Noel
by cmaddict
Summary: When the owner of a boys' home is murdered right before Christmas, the detectives and ADAs must dig deep to find his killer. But their investigation leads to some surprising discoveries, personally and professionally. Mike/Connie later.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: Here's my Christmas case contribution to the L&O fandom. And there will be some Mike/Connie lovin' a little later! It always makes me happy... and that's what Christmas is all about, right?! Particularly since tomorrow (12/16) is my birthday, so consider this my birthday present to you. So leave me some birthday presents in the way of reviews! Constructive criticism is always welcome.

**Disclaimer**: We all know I don't own this thing. If I did, I might actually be able to afford my Christmas presents...

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**Chapter 1**

**December 14**

Linus Jenkins smiled happily as he wound his way through the crowds on Forty-Second Street. Just two weeks before Christmas, and there was this aura of joy in the atmosphere. Even in New York City, the city that never slept and never stopped, people seemed to be getting in the holiday spirit. So what if the stores were jam packed with people shoving and shouting their way to the front?

Okay, so he was a little naïve. But he knew it. And he didn't care. Christmas was his favorite time of year. A time to celebrate the coming of a Savior. A time of peace on earth and good will toward men. A time for turkey and dressing and all the trimmings. A time for singing Christmas carols and marveling at the beautiful lights that dotted the city.

But the thing that Linus Jenkins loved most was seeing his boys' faces light up as they opened their presents on Christmas Day. Linus ran a home for boys on the Upper West Side. The dilapidated old house in the middle of the city was filled with thirteen boys, ages five to fifteen, abandoned by their parents and left to fend for themselves in the cold streets of the city. Most of them had been bounced around in the foster system for a couple of years before they came to Linus. Most of them had had behavioral problems. But Linus's philosophy was that with some firm love and care, they would grow up to be good men. And, for the most part, his philosophy worked.

He pulled the huge bag of gifts tighter to his chest. Each one had been carefully selected for each individual boy and wrapped beautifully. This was the only time of year they got gifts. Because the house was practically falling apart around them, money was pretty tight. But it was the only real home most of the boys had ever known.

A smile spread across his face as he imagined the looks on their faces when they opened the presents. Come Christmas Day, he would make them a special breakfast of pancake and eggs, dress up as jolly old Saint Nicholas, and gently shake the boys awake. They'd sing a Christmas carol and read the story of the shepherds and wise men. And then… then, they'd open the presents. Their faces would light up at the sight of all the toys and music. They'd sing and dance and play with all the toys. He'd put on some Christmas music and laugh like Santa. "Ho, ho, ho!" he'd say as the kids laughed. Even the older boys would play with the younger boys.

Linus glanced up at the thick clouds hanging over the city. They were heavy with the snow that had been promised by the weathermen on TV. For once, it looked like they were right. His smile got even bigger. Maybe this year they'd have a white Christmas. They'd go out into the tiny yard and have a snowball fight or make snowmen. The boys would love that.

He turned into a costume store on Fiftieth Street, the sound of Christmas carols floating out into the street. "Hey, Brittany," he greeted the cashier with a smile.

"Linus!" she said, coming out from behind the counter with a wide grin on her pretty face. The man had become a regular in the three years she'd worked at the costume store, and she always loved talking to him when he came in for his annual Santa costume. "I have your Santa suit all ready to go for you."

"Great. I've got to get back before the blizzard starts."

"I'd heard it was going to snow tonight." Brittany went back to her place behind the counter and pulled a Santa suit off the rack. She checked the tag and handed it to Linus with a smile. "Here you go. Boys all ready for Christmas?"

"Oh, definitely. Jason and Wally put up the Christmas tree the day after Thanksgiving." He shook his head, amused at the memory of the two eight-year-olds trying to put the star on the top of the tree. "Let's just say it was a little bit of an adventure."

"I'm sure it was. Did you have enough this year to get them some good presents."

"Yes, thank God. One of the churches gave us some money at the beginning of the month."

"Good. I was hoping you would."

"I'd hate for the boys to go without gifts this year. They've been really good."

Brittany smiled. "So would I." She glanced outside at the darkening sky. It wouldn't be long before the snow started coming down. "You'd better get moving before the snow starts."

Linus turned around and groaned. "Guess I'll have to take the subway." He grabbed the Santa suit off the counter and gave Brittany a big smile. "Merry Christmas, Brittany."

"Merry Christmas, Linus."

*****

Homicide Detective Cyrus Lupo screeched to a halt next to the cruiser parked outside the dilapidated brownstone. Snowflakes hit his windshield, leaving trails of water as they melted against the heated glass.

A blast of cold wind hit his face as he pushed open his door, and he groaned. He'd never been a big fan of the cold. That had been one of the few pluses of spending four years in the Middle East tracking down terrorists. It had been cold, but certainly not _this_ cold. He wrapped his coat tighter around his body and wound his way through the maze of police cars and tech vehicles.

Dying at Christmas. Didn't get much worse than dying at Christmas. It was more awful than dying at any other holiday in the year. Christmas was supposed to be a happy time, no matter what religion you were. It was a time for family and friends to gather together and celebrate – peace on earth, that whole bit. Definitely not for a guy to be murdered in his own home. Lupo shook his head and ducked under the yellow police tape that curtained off the crime scene from the prying eyes of the neighbors. They'd already gathered in the street outside the brownstone, rubbernecks more interested in gossip than a person's life.

He passed a CSU tech coming out of the house. "Upstairs, Detective," the tech said, pulling off a pair of bloodstained rubber gloves and shoving them in his pocket.

"Thanks," Lupo said, watching as the tech walked down the stairs and around to the back of the house. "That's real sanitary," he muttered with a shake of his head.

He walked into the darkened parlor. The brownstone was certainly old, and it looked like its age was catching up to it. His observant eye spotted a couple of cracks running along the ceiling toward an old chandelier, and he scratched his beard absently. It could definitely use quite a bit of work.

As he turned to head up the stairs to his left, he spotted a group of kids sitting by themselves in the living room. Every pair of eyes watched him carefully, studying his every move. Lupo stared back at them for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing a little. He wasn't a big fan of being scrutinized like that, particularly by a group of boys.

A uniformed officer passed by him on the way out the door, and Lupo quickly grabbed his arm. "Hey, who're the kids?" he asked.

The officer twisted his head to look over his shoulder. "Oh, they're the kids that live here. The vic ran a home for boys."

"A home for boys?"

"Yeah. Boys that were abandoned or neglected." The officer shook his head. "Don't know what's going to happen to them now. The housekeeper's going to stay with them until they can figure out what to do about them."

Lupo looked back at the boys and nodded once. "Thanks." The officer disappeared out the door, leaving Lupo alone with his thoughts. That made the whole situation ten times worse than he'd thought. A group of unwanted kids left all alone right before Christmas, their only caretaker stolen from them. It didn't make any sense.

His mind was still whirling as he climbed the steps to the upstairs bedrooms. All he had to do was follow the bustle of CSU techs, medical examiners, and uniformed officers to find the crime scene. He squeezed past a pair of techs chatting in the hallway and finally entered the master bedroom.

The bedroom was a mess. A gray-haired man in his forties, clad only in a pair of boxers and t-shirt, lay on top of the covers. From Lupo's vantage point by the door, he could count at least five stab wounds on his upper chest. The white sheets on the bed were saturated with blood, and the room was freezing cold from the open window on the opposite side of the bed.

Detective Kevin Bernard, a heavy-set African-American in his thirties and Lupo's partner, stood on the other side of the bed, taking notes in his notepad. "Silent night, right, Lups?" he asked wryly as Lupo came further into the room to stand by the bed.

"Something like that," Lupo muttered back.

Bernard gestured toward the victim with his pen. "Linus Jenkins, aged forty-four. Ran a home for boys that the foster system lost. M.E. says he was stabbed to death."

Lupo shook his head. "Can't get much worse than that."

"One of the boys found him like this."

Lupo's eyes lifted from the body to meet his partners. "I stand corrected." He walked around the foot of the bed to the open window. "He come in through the window?"

"That's what it looks like. CSU printed the window and came up with a couple of partials. They're going to print the boys just to rule it out."

Lupo bent over to examine the underside of the window. "Doesn't look like it was forced. Robbery?"

"The housekeeper says it was broken before this happened. She said she's gone through the room and nothing's missing. And the M.E. says he hasn't been dead that long."

"So it would have to be someone that knew it was broken."

Bernard shrugged. "Or the perp brought stuff, found it open, and just slipped in."

Lupo stuck his head out the window, a shiver running through his body as the cold wind stung his face. He looked down to the ground and then glanced up and down the side of the house. An old rose trellis leaned up against the side of the house. "Must've climbed up this trellis to the window." He pulled his head back in and shook the snow out of his dark hair. "Pretty strong fella to be able to do that. It doesn't look like the sturdiest thing in the world." He turned around to see Bernard staring at something in the closet. "What is it?"

His partner let out a big sigh and moved away so Lupo could look inside. A stack of brightly-wrapped presents sat neatly stacked on the floor of the closet. A Santa suit hung in the back corner, tucked safely away until Christmas.

"Damn," Lupo swore softly.

"Merry Christmas to all," Bernard said quietly, giving his partner a meaningful look. "And to all a good night."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks to all of you who reviewed the last chapter! It's nice to know I'm on a good track. And now that I'm done with exams, I should have a lot more time to write. No guarantee that this will be finished by Christmas, but with a little luck, I should be able to finish by New Years. Please review this chapter too!**

**Chapter 2**

Lupo and Bernard accepted the hot chocolate handed to them by the housekeeper with smiles. Karen Franks, a dark-haired and heavy-set woman with just a touch of gray at her temples, took a seat on the couch across from them, the old piece of furniture creaking under her weight. She'd sent the boys to their rooms for the night, saying it was late and they still needed to get a little sleep. The two detectives knew she was just kidding herself. There would be no sleep in that house tonight.

"Thanks for the hot cocoa, Mrs. Franks," Bernard said, taking a sip of the hot liquid. Most of the techs had finished their work, and the M.E. had taken Jenkins' body to her lab an hour ago, leaving the two detectives in the old brownstone alone with her and the kids.

"Anything I can do to help the NYPD," she replied, twisting her hands together nervously on her lap. "My husband, God rest his soul, was a police officer years ago. I can't believe anyone would do this to Linus. He was such a nice man."

"We're so sorry for your loss," Lupo said gently. He set his mug down on the coffee table and pulled his pad of paper from his pocket. "Did he mention any trouble with anyone? Like maybe from the neighborhood?"

"No, of course not. Everyone in the neighborhood really liked him. Except for that couple next door."

"Which couple?"

"The Polinsky's. They used to get onto the boys for making too much noise in the backyard at night. Linus used to tell them that since the boys went to school during the day, they couldn't play at any other time." She snorted derisively. "That didn't really go over too well. I've seen them watching the house many times, just waiting for a reason to get us kicked out."

"What about people outside the neighborhood?" asked Bernard.

"Most people really liked him. Even the principals at the boys' schools liked him. Some of them gave him money to buy the boys Christmas presents this year. Money's been pretty tight."

"How tight is tight?" Lupo spoke up.

Mrs. Franks sighed. "The toilet in the upstairs bathroom broke a couple of months ago. Linus had to practically beg money from one of the local churches to get it fixed. This year, he couldn't even afford to get the boys birthday presents, and he wasn't sure if he could get them presents for Christmas either."

Bernard nodded as Lupo scribbled down the information. "Did the boys ever get into any trouble?"

"Just the usual kind. You know, cutting up at school and such. But Linus was really good with them. I mean, really good. They all loved him." A lone tear made its way down her weathered cheek, and she brushed it aside hastily. "I don't know what we're going to do without him. He kept this place running."

Lupo and Bernard glanced quickly at each other. "Uh," Lupo said, clearing his throat. "I know it's late and everything, but we're going to need to talk to the boy that found him."

Mrs. Franks nodded, wiping another tear from her eye. "Timmy. He's upstairs; I'll go get him."

As the two detectives watched her climb up the stairs, Bernard leaned over to his partner and whispered, "I don't know about you, but I'd love to have a talk with the Polinsky's."

"Maybe they were watching the house when the murder went down."

"Or maybe they got a little too tired of all the noise and decided to take matters into their own hands." Lupo looked at him sharply, and Bernard shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Lupo didn't reply. Instead, he let his eyes travel around the room. If the house wasn't falling apart so much, it could actually be considered quaint. A brightly decorated Christmas tree stood in the corner, its multicolored lights glowing brilliantly in the low lamplight. Next to it sat an old piano, also decorated with a green garland and candles. Lupo shook his head. These people really got into Christmas.

"Detectives?"

They lifted their heads to see Mrs. Franks standing in the doorway to the parlor, tightly gripping the hand of a tow-headed little boy. His frightened blue eyes flitted back and forth between the two detectives, and they could see his small fingers tighten their hold on Mrs. Franks' hand. The woman looked down lovingly at the little boy. "This is Timmy Dowd," she said with a smile.

"My name's Tim," the boy corrected quietly, giving her an annoyed look that only a child could muster.

The corner of Bernard's mouth tilted slightly at the boy. "Tim, I'm Detective Bernard, and this is Detective Lupo."

The boy looked at him suspiciously. "You're real cops?"

"Timmy, be polite," Mrs. Franks scolded the boy.

Lupo raised his hand and shook his head. "It's okay." He pulled out his badge and showed it to the boy. "See, here's my badge. My partner's got one too."

That seemed to satisfy the child. He wriggled his hand from Mrs. Franks' grasp and plopped down in the armchair next to the couch on which the detectives sat. He looked so small the chair just seemed to swallow him.

"How old are you, Tim?" Bernard asked.

"Ten and a half," Tim answered with a proud grin. "I'll be eleven in May."

"Wow," Lupo said, returning his smile. "You're old."

"So are you," he shot back.

Bernard and Lupo chuckled. "Thanks, I appreciate that," Lupo said with a shake of his head.

"Are you trying to find out who killed Linus?"

The two detectives shared a look. "Yeah, we are," Bernard answered. "Can you tell us what happened?"

The grin slowly faded from the boy's face, and his eyes grew distant. "I had to go to the bathroom," he said softly, his voice hollow and empty. "I walked in and he was there. Blood was everywhere."

"What did you do after that?"

"I ran downstairs and grabbed Karen."

Lupo smiled at the boy. "You did the right thing, Tim. Are you sure you didn't see anything else?"

"No, nuh-uh."

"Did anyone get really mad at Linus?"

The boy shook his head again. "No."

"Okay." He nodded at Mrs. Franks, who gently grabbed Tim's hand. "Thanks, Tim."

"C'mon, Timmy," the woman said, tugging on the boy's hand. "Let's get you to bed." He reluctantly followed her up the stairs, looking back at the two detectives as he climbed each step.

"Wha'dya think about that?" Bernard asked quietly.

Lupo sighed and scratched his beard. "Not exactly sure what to think."

*****

The bland wooden front door of the Polinsky's house flew open, revealing a very livid man in his fifties, dressed in a t-shirt and pajama bottoms. "What the hell do you want?" he growled, eyes darting back and forth between the two men.

Lupo and Bernard glanced at each other, eyebrows raised. "Are you Mr. Polinsky?" Bernard asked.

"Yeah. Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Detective Lupo; this is my partner, Detective Bernard," Lupo said, pulling out his badge and flipping it open. "May we come in?"

"What's this about?" the man asked, the hostility still evident in his voice.

"Your next-door neighbor, Mr. Jenkins, was murdered tonight. We're trying to get some information. Is your wife here?"

"Donald?" a female voice wafted down from upstairs. "Who is it?"

"It's the cops," Polinsky shouted back up the stairs.

Within seconds, a middle-aged woman came rushing down the stairs, wrapped in a bathrobe and her salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a bun at the nape of her neck. "What's the trouble, officers?" she asked, joining her husband at the door.

"We're investigating a murder," Bernard said politely. "Mr. Jenkins, next door."

"Oh, those poor boys!"

"Good riddance," her husband muttered.

"Could we ask you some questions?" Lupo asked, exchanging a look with his partner.

"Certainly," Mrs. Polinsky replied with a smile, giving a dark look to her husband. "Come in, please!"

Bernard and Lupo stepped into the parlor of the old brownstone, which was in much better shape than the one next door. Pictures of a young man and young woman hung on the walls above an old wooden chest of drawers, but there were no pictures of children grouped with any of the other photos. It looked a lot like the one next door, but with no cracks running through the season.

"Would you like some coffee or something?" Mrs. Polinsky asked, ushering them into the spacious living room that was so similar, yet so different from the one next door. They were about the same size, but the Polinsky's had no Christmas decorations up anywhere in the house. It became painfully obvious to the two detectives that at least Mr. Polinsky wasn't a big fan of the holiday.

"Sarah, don't get them any coffee," Mr. Polinsky snapped. "Let's just get this over with so they can leave."

"Oh, quit being such a crotchety old man," she replied.

"Thanks for the offer, Mrs. Polinsky, but this won't take very long," Bernard said with a polite smile.

She gestured for them to sit on the couch, which the two detectives did. A still-furious Mr. Polinsky and his wife sat on the opposite couch.

"Now, Mrs. Polinsky, the housekeeper said you've had a little bit of, uh, trouble with Mr. Jenkins in the past."

The older woman nodded. "Unfortunately. Those boys made an awful lot of racket in the backyard. My husband likes to go to bed pretty early. I asked Mr. Jenkins to keep them quiet in the evenings, but he just said 'Boys will be boys'."

"I should've slugged the guy," Mr. Polinsky said darkly.

"Oh, hush, Donald," his wife admonished. "They're just children."

"I hate children," he muttered.

"Did he do anything about it?" Lupo asked.

"Once it got cold, the boys played inside for the most part. Donald and I just turned up the television a little louder." She sighed. "Mr. Jenkins was such a nice fellow. Really polite."

"We have to ask, Mrs. Polinsky. Where were you and your husband tonight?" Bernard asked.

"What the hell kind of question is that?" Mr. Polinsky shouted.

"Just trying to rule you out, Mr. Polinsky," Lupo replied smoothly.

"Donald, these young men are just doing their jobs." Mrs. Polinsky shook her head. "I don't understand you sometimes."

"Goes both ways, Sarah," her husband replied angrily.

"Excuse my husband, Detectives. He's tends to get a little cranky around this time of year. We didn't have children." Mrs. Polinsky sighed. "We were here all night. Donald went to bed around nine. I stayed up to watch one of those crime shows and went to bed around ten-thirty."

"Did you see or hear anything around that time?" Lupo asked.

Mrs. Polinsky turned her gaze upward, thinking for a moment. "Now that you mention it, when I was walking up the stairs heading to bed, I thought I saw someone walking around outside the house."

That got the detectives' attention. "Someone? One of the boys?" Bernard asked, leaning forward a little.

She shook her head. "No, I don't think so. But he was pretty small."

"Can you describe him at all? Height, weight?"

"Five-seven at the most. I didn't really get a good look."

Lupo nodded. "Okay. And this was around ten-thirty?"

Mrs. Polinsky nodded. "I'm sure of it. It was so dark I couldn't see his face, but it was definitely somebody walking around outside, toward the back of the house. From that window, right there." She pointed to a window over the stairs.

*****

"You can't get anything more out of the boy?" Lieutenant Anita van Buren rubbed her eyes tiredly as she leaned back in her chair. She wasn't exactly used to getting rousted out of her bed at two o'clock in the morning, and it showed. She might've been a dedicated cop, but even dedicated cops needed sleep.

Bernard shook his head. "It's late, and he's closing off. He found his caretaker lying in a pool of his own blood."

"You think he's protecting someone?"

"I don't think so," Lupo said. "I didn't get that vibe from him. I think he's genuinely scared of something. Just don't know what."

"We talked to the housekeeper before we left. She said she'd keep an eye on him," Bernard interjected.

"Drop that one for now. What about this couple next door, the Polinsky's?" Van Buren asked.

Lupo flipped open the folder in his hands. "No complaints filed with the city. Looks like they weren't really willing to make good on their threats."

"I didn't really get the sense they were lying to us. The guy's a Grinch, but he's not violent. And she's just a sweet old lady," Bernard said.

Van Buren raised an eyebrow. "And Ed Gein seemed like a nice old man. Got enough of a description?"

"Not really, but we do have an idea of the time of death. Mrs. Polinsky said she saw him about ten-thirty going around the side of the house. Now, that side faces Jenkins' bedroom window and the old trellis."

The lieutenant nodded. "And we're sure that's how they got in?"

"Lock on the window was broken. Only way he could've possibly gotten in." Lupo answered.

"We're waiting on the financials from the home and the results on the partials CSU pulled off the window."

Van Buren pursed her lips thoughtfully and nodded. "Check back with the M.E. Maybe she's got something we can actually use."

*****

"Someone really wasn't happy with this fella." The medical examiner, Dr. Elizabeth Rodgers, used her knee to shut off the faucet over the sink and pulled out a paper towel to dry her hands.

"I saw five stab wounds?" Lupo asked.

Rodgers nodded as she tossed away the paper towel. "That was my final count. But these weren't any ordinary stab wounds."

Bernard furrowed his brow at the M.E. "Stab wounds are stab wounds, right?"

"Is a knife a knife?" she shot back rhetorically. "There are K-bars, smooth edges, serrated edges…"

"Yeah, we get the idea," Lupo interrupted. "What kind of edge killed our guy?"

"Serrated edge, about eight inches long." Rodgers walked over to the half-covered body lying on the metal table in the center of the morgue. "Five stab wounds to the upper torso and abdomen. One punctured the heart, two more punctured the lungs. Any one of those three would've been fatal."

"Five stab wounds. Isn't that a little bit of overkill?" Bernard asked, giving his partner a look.

"Well, I'm no psychiatrist, but I can tell you that your guy had a lot of rage."

"Rage?" Bernard echoed.

"See this bruise here?" She pointed to a rectangular bruise surrounding the stab wound to the heart. "It was made perimortem by the hilt of the knife. Whoever stabbed him, stabbed him with enough force to bruise his chest."

Lupo and Bernard looked at each other for a moment, absorbing this information. "So this definitely wasn't a robbery," Bernard said finally.

Lupo shook his head. "This was personal."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I'll be updating pretty regularly for the next couple of days so I can post the fluffy Christmasy romance part on Christmas Day. So let me know what you think! You're all amazing!**

**Chapter 3**

**December 15**

Lupo chugged the last of his third cup of coffee and tiredly rubbed his beard. He'd gotten maybe a couple hours of sleep the night before, on top of the four hours of sleep the night before that working on another case. Maybe he'd gotten a little soft in the year or so he'd been back from the Middle East. He could remember a time when he could go almost seventy-two hours without sleep. Now he needed multiple cups of coffee.

He was in the midst of perusing the financial records of Linus Jenkins. As far as he could tell, Linus Jenkisn had no financial records outside of the home. His credit card was from the bank and went to the savings account set up for the boys' home. He had no personal checking account. By all intents and purposes, the boys' home had been the man's life.

"Okay, thank you." Bernard hung up the phone at his desk across from Lupo and sighed. "Lab couldn't find a match to the prints from the window. I found something really funny when I tried to pull Jenkins' records with DMV and the department."

"Funny ha-ha, or funny strange?"

"Funny strange. Jenkins didn't have New York State driver's license until ten years ago."

"That's not really funny strange. A lot of people in New York don't have driver's licenses."

"Yeah, but when I try to pull up his W-4 and I-9 for taxes, I can't find a Linus Jenkins with the right birth date."

Lupo furrowed his brow at his partner. "You're kidding. You have to provide a Social Security number to get a license."

Bernard shook his head. "I checked with the Social Security database, and the number he provided for the DMV was issued ten years ago too. I can't find a record of Linus Peter Jenkins anywhere before 1998."

"He must not have a record, because the lab ran his prints and the only thing that hit was for the DMV."

Bernard sighed. "I know, man, but I can't even find a Selective Service registration for the guy. It's like he's some kind of Ghost of Christmas Past or something."

Lupo scrolled down the page on his laptop. "I pulled the financial records from the home. The housekeeper wasn't kidding about them being in serious trouble. As of yesterday, they had maybe two thousand dollars left in the account."

Bernard whistled. "That's barely enough to pay for electricity in this town."

"Yeah. A couple of churches and centers have donated pretty regularly during the past couple of months, but I found something sort of interesting."

"Interesting good, or interesting bad?"

He stared at his partner for just a minute before replying, "How about just interesting?"

Bernard grinned. "I think I can live with that."

"This one church, New Life Bible Church, put a thousand dollars into this account every month until three months ago. Then the donations stopped. Nothing in there since."

"That's really interesting." Bernard furrowed his brow at his partner. "I wonder what would possibly make them do something like that?"

"Maybe they have some information we don't."

"And maybe we should figure out what that is."

*****

**New Hope Bible Church  
****5789 W. 76****th**** Street  
December 15**

Less than two hours later, the detectives pulled open the heavy wooden door of the New Hope Bible Church on the West Side. The church was fairly small, but the sanctuary looked like a typical church sanctuary. It was big and solemn, with a piano in one corner and an organ in the other. A huge baptistery loomed over the choir loft at the front of the center aisle. A brilliantly lit Christmas tree stood at the bottom of the stage, surrounded by bright red poinsettias, and a traditional, almost life-sized nativity scene was in front of the tree. Garlands hung from the walls and from the podium at the front of the stage.

"This stuff always makes me nervous," Lupo muttered so that only Bernard could hear him.

"Feeling a little guilty, Lups?" Bernard answered with a grin. "It's just a church."

"Try telling that to the nuns from my parochial school."

The sound of a door opening echoed through the sanctuary, and they stopped in the middle of the aisle. A tall, thin, balding man dressed in a suit rounded the front pew and walked briskly toward the two detectives. "Detectives?"

"Uh, yeah," Lupo replied, extending his hand politely. "I'm Detective Lupo, this is Detective Bernard."

"I'm Jerry Hale, the pastor of this church," he replied as he took the proffered hand and firmly shook it. "My secretary said you had some questions for me about a murder investigation?"

"Yeah, we do, Pastor," Bernard answered. "You're familiar with Linus Jenkins?"

Hale's brow furrowed. "Yes, I'm very familiar with him and his work. I don't understand; is he a suspect in this investigation? I can't believe he'd be involved in a murder."

Bernard and Lupo exchanged a quick look before Lupo replied. "Actually, Mr. Hale, he's the victim."

Hale's blue eyes widened as he stood there completely stunned. "Linus Jenkins dead? How? When?"

"Last night. He was stabbed to death," Bernard replied.

"Those poor boys," Hale murmured. "And just before Christmas too. What led you to me?"

"We understand you made some donations to the home."

Hale nodded and rubbed his balding head. "Linus approached me about a year ago, asking for money for the boys. He was in some pretty bad straits. Couldn't keep up with the bills for the house, could barely buy enough food for the boys. He only had six boys back then. And then he got more, and money got tighter."

Lupo nodded. "Yeah, we talked to the housekeeper."

"Then you know that the home was about to go under."

"We do, Mr. Hale," Bernard answered. "Which is why we can't figure out why you would stop giving the home money three months ago."

Hale froze. "How did you know that?" he demanded quietly.

"It's procedure to check the financial records of the deceased," Lupo answered. "Care to tell us why the donations stopped?"

Hale sighed and sank into one of the crimson-cushioned pews. "About four months ago, I got an anonymous letter. It made some outrageous accusations against Linus."

"What kind of accusations?"

The man sighed again and folded his hands tightly together in his lap. "It claimed that Linus had molested a fifteen-year-old boy about ten years ago. I didn't believe it at first."

"What changed your mind?" inquired Bernard.

"The author of the letter included a picture from a local newspaper of Linus with a different name. I thought it was some kind of sick prank. But the church board didn't want our name to be tainted if a formal accusation was ever made. They voted to stop the donations." Hale sighed again and rubbed his balding head. "I tried to argue that Linus was using the money for the boys, but the board wouldn't listen. It was more important to protect the name of the church than donate to a group of orphaned children."

He looked up at the detectives, who stood there with blank looks on their faces. "Look, I know what you're thinking. And believe me, I tried to tell them that giving to the poor is much more important than worrying about an accusation that might not even be true, that if the heart is generous there's no need to worry about what others would think." He shrugged sadly. "But they insisted it was much more important to keep the good name of the church. I guess I failed them as a pastor, in a way. We're supposed to be about forgiveness and second chances, acknowledging the work of God in a man's life. I guess I didn't teach them that well enough."

Lupo cleared his throat and shot a glance at his partner. "Do you still have the letter?"

Hale nodded. "It's in my office. I'll go get it." He stood up and walked toward the front of the church to the door he'd vacated earlier.

"Think we got ourselves a new suspect?" Bernard whispered to his partner.

"It would certainly explain the fake name and Social Security number."

The door opened again, and Hale returned, carrying a folded piece of paper. "I didn't keep the original envelope," he said, handing the paper to the detectives.

Lupo nodded, unfolding the document and handing the picture inside to Bernard. "Thank you for your help, Pastor."

He gave the detective a little half-smile. "Even if those things are true about Linus, I hope you find whoever did this and make sure he's punished. Linus didn't deserve that. The man I knew was kind and compassionate and cared for children." He extended a hand toward Bernard, who shook it amiably. "Let me know if you need any more help."

"Absolutely, Pastor," Bernard replied. With that, the pastor disappeared into his office again, the sound of the closing door reverberating off the high ceilings of the church.

After the pastor had left, Bernard looked at the picture and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "'Linus Ford given award for work with underprivileged children'," he read the caption under the photo as he showed it his partner. "No city listed."

"Listen to this. 'Linus Jenkins is a pedophile who raped a fifteen-year-old boy. He deserves to rot in hell.'" Lupo shook his head and stuffed the letter into his pocket. "Pretty weighty stuff."

"That just might be the understatement of the year."

*****

"_What?!_" The plate in Mrs. Franks' hands crashed into the sink, drawing the attention of the three boys playing a card game in the living room of the old brownstone. She glanced at them and gave them a quick smile before turning an angry gaze on the two detectives in front of her.

Lupo held up his hands. "Mrs. Franks, we've done our research. There's no record of a Linus Jenkins with his birth date anywhere in the United States before ten years ago."

"That's just absurd!"

"Out of curiosity, Mrs. Franks, how much do you know about Linus?" Bernard asked.

She brushed a strand of salt-and-pepper hair out of her eyes and sighed. "Not much. I know he moved here from upstate."

"Do you know where?"

"No. But I think he worked some with his hands."

"Does the name Linus Ford mean anything to you?" Lupo asked.

She shook her head. "Never heard it before."

The two detectives exchanged glances, knowing what they had to ask next. Bernard gave an almost imperceptible nod to his partner, who glared back at him before asking the horrible question. "Mrs. Franks, there've been some… accusations made about Linus in the last couple of days," he began hesitatingly.

Mrs. Franks frowned, and her eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. "What kind of accusations?"

They exchanged glances again. "Uh… have the boys ever mentioned him acting… inappropriately toward them?"

Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. "How _dare _you?!" she hissed, her eyes darting toward the living room again.

"We have to ask these questions, Mrs. Franks," Bernard said quietly. "Someone sent a letter to a church claiming that Linus Ford molested a boy ten years ago."

"How do you know that this Linus Ford is the same Linus as Linus Jenkins?" she whispered harshly.

Lupo sighed and looked at his partner again. "They sent a picture with the letter. It's him. A little younger, but definitely him."

Mrs. Franks sighed and ran a hand through her hair. She looked out the window for a moment, deep in thought. It had stopped snowing sometime early in the morning, but there was still a layer of white on the bare branches of the tree in the backyard.

"We know this is hard to process," Bernard said gently. "But we're just doing our jobs. We're trying to find the person that did this."

"I know you're just doing your jobs," she said quietly. Finally she turned her gaze back to the two detectives. "I don't know about this Linus Ford guy. But the boys all loved him. Billy and Jake, the two youngest, used to climb up into his lap and ask for him to read them stories. He'd take the oldest boy, Will, to the park to play baseball during the spring. Linus Jenkins would never do anything to those boys."

*****

"You believe a guy who writes an anonymous letter and doesn't threaten to go to the papers?" Lieutenant Van Buren asked, putting her hands on her hips. The squad room was alive with activity. Not only was it a time for peace on earth and good will toward men, but it was also the time of year when all the nuts came out of every corner of the city. Phones were ringing off the hook all around the room.

Bernard shrugged and leaned back in his chair at his desk. "The housekeeper's adamant that he would never hurt a little boy. And the kids we talked to all loved him. None of them acted like they'd been abused."

"People do occasionally reform," the lieutenant replied with a smile. "Even pedophiles."

"Rarely," Bernard muttered.

"If it wasn't for the picture and the fake name, I'd say the dude that wrote the letter was off his rocker. We've talked to almost fifty people, and everyone's said he was the nicest guy on the planet. Lousy with money, but nice," said Lupo. "But you don't change names unless you've got something to hide."

"Did you check with the other churches?"

Bernard nodded. "We called a couple listed on the records, but none of them got a letter like this one."

"So what would make a guy out for revenge choose that particular one?"

"This might have something to do with it." Lupo turned his laptop around so the lieutenant could see it, revealing an online newspaper article. "Article from the _Post_ about New Hope's donations to the boys' home. Published just two weeks before the pastor says they got the letter."

"Picture of Jenkins and everything," the lieutenant murmured. "Someone recognized him and got pissed. Where are we on tracking him down?"

"Some cities archive their old articles online, so I'm cross-referencing the name on the photo with the date of the article. I managed to find the exact article from a newspaper in Washingtonville, written by a guy named Paul Sims. It's a town a few miles from West Point."

She nodded and gave them a smile. "Sounds like you two are going to be taking a road trip."

Bernard turned to Lupo with a wide grin on his face. "I get to pick the music."

Lupo groaned. It would be a long hour.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry this is rather belated. I'd planned on getting this up yesterday, but I was traveling. And then I've been moving all day today. But it's a long one, which hopefully will make up for the lateness (it had originally been 2 chapters). I've been working furiously on getting the fluffy part written, which should come in chapter 8 (which will also be the last chapter).**

**Chapter 4**

**Washingtonville, New York  
December 16**

Lupo groaned as he pushed open his door and got out of the car. "If I have to listen to one more Christmas carol…"

"You're gonna shoot yourself?" Bernard finished as he shut the passenger-side door.

"No, I'm gonna shoot _you_."

Bernard chuckled goodnaturedly, pulling his coat tighter around his body. The air was cold up here, colder than in the city. Clouds hung in the sky, heavy with threatening snow. "So where do we start?"

Lupo gestured down the street toward a small building about a hundred yards away. A sign that read _Washingtonville Journal_ hung on the roof of the building. "How about the guy that wrote the story?"

"Ten years ago?" Bernard looked skeptically at his partner.

"It's Washingtonville. How many reporters could they have?"

Bernard had to give him that one. The two detectives walked toward the building with the garlands and sprigs of holly hanging from the rafters, ignoring the odd looks from the passersby on the street. More than once, they saw eyes drift down to the badges they kept clipped to their belts. Apparently, big city cops were rare in that town, even in a town of a population around six thousand.

"It's like we walked into Whoville," Bernard whispered to his partner.

"Yeah, I keep expecting to see Cindy Lou Who walking toward me," Lupo returned.

"Speaking of Christmas, have you decided what you're doing this year?"

"Spending it with Jenny and the kids. I think we're heading to my mother's house the day after. You?"

"My family's coming here this year. I got sick of flying back to Compton every year and told them that it was their turn."

"How the hell are you gonna fit them all in that hole you call an apartment?"

Bernard thought about it for a moment and shrugged his broad shoulders. "Good question."

Lupo chuckled as he pulled the door open, the bell above the door tinkling merrily as the two detectives stepped into the small-town newspaper office. It was almost like they walked into a winter wonderland. Paper snowflakes dangled from the ceiling tiles, and a tall Christmas tree stood in the back corner by another office. They'd even gone so far as to wallpaper the counters with bright red and green wrapping paper and put a bow on the corner.

"And I thought Campezi was bad at this decorating thing," Bernard whispered to Lupo. He was referring to one of the 2-7's detectives, who'd gone on a Christmas decorating rampage at the precinct before the lieutenant made him confine it to his desk.

A pretty young receptionist at the front desk looked up at the two men with a bright, cheery smile on her face. She brushed a strand of blonde hair from her face and grinned. "Hi!" she said cheerfully. "How can I help you two?"

"Uh yeah, we're here to speak with Paul Sims," Bernard said with a wide smile, folding his arms in front of his chest.

"Do you have an appointment?"

A tall man in his late fifties walked out of one of the back offices just in time to hear the exchange with the receptionist. "I'm Paul Sims," he said, giving a half-smile to the young woman.

"Uh, Mr. Sims, we're with the NYPD. We'd like to ask you some questions," Lupo said, pulling out his badge and showing it to the reporter.

Sims glanced down at the badge for a moment and waved them back behind the counter. "We can talk in my office."

The two detectives followed the gray-haired reporter to a spacious office in the back of the building. Several awards hung on the walls, and three bowling trophies rested on a huge oak bookshelf behind his desk. Sims ushered them in and shut the door behind them. "What can I do for the NYPD?"

"We're investigating a homicide in New York two days ago," Bernard said, lowering himself into the soft leather chair in front of Sims' desk. Lupo unceremoniously plopped into the other one. "Man by the name of Linus Jenkins was stabbed to death."

Sims frowned as he sat down in his own chair. "Can't say the name rings a bell."

"Well, sir, you might know him as Linus Ford." Lupo reached into his pocket and pulled out the newspaper photo they'd been given by Pastor Hale. "We found the article you wrote online."

Sims reached out and took the photo. He let out a soft laugh. "Man, I wrote this ten years ago! One of my first pieces. You said he had the last name Jenkins?"

Bernard nodded. "We have reason to believe that he changed his name when he moved to the city."

"What can you tell us about Linus Ford?" Lupo asked, pulling out a pad of paper and pen.

"Good guy. Hard worker. He'd spend the entire month before Christmas helping foster children in Newburgh get their presents. Did that for three years before the mayor gave him a citizen of the year award."

"What happened then?" Bernard asked, taking the picture back from Sims.

"I'm not really sure. A couple of months after I published the story, he upped and disappeared."

"Just like that?" Lupo inquired, giving Bernard a strange look.

"Just like that. I went by his place to ask him about some other charity work he was doing, and he was gone. All of his stuff was gone, including his old family Bible and all those clothes." Sims smiled. "He didn't exactly have much anyways. He and his daddy were both poor. But it didn't stop either of them from working with charity."

"Where was his place?" Bernard asked.

"On the outskirts of town. But he spent most of his time with a family here in town."

"What family was that?"

Sims leaned back in his chair. "The Martones. They were a fairly well-to-do family. Mr. Martone was on the board of trustees for the town, and Mrs. Martone had inherited some old money from her rich father. I think he was some sort of CEO in Philadelphia. They died in a car accident about eight years ago."

Lupo and Bernard exchanged a look. "His housekeeper said he used to work with his hands," Lupo prompted.

"Yeah, he was their handyman, in a way. He was all alone in that house in the middle of nowhere, so they gave him a room in their house and food and whatnot. I think they felt kind of sorry for him. He was a smart guy, but his daddy was pretty poor, so he didn't get much of an education beyond normal high school. Their house was pretty old, so there was always work that needed to be done. And he used to take care of the kids."

"Kids?" Bernard asked.

"Yeah. A girl and a boy. Audrey and Robert. Audrey was the oldest. Pretty little thing… still lives in town."

"And the boy? Uh, Robert?" Lupo inquired, scribbling a note down in his pad.

Sims shook his head sadly. "So sad. He committed suicide about two years ago. Shot himself. His sister found him; just about broke her heart."

Lupo exchanged another glance with Bernard. "Out of sheer curiosity, how old was Robert when Linus left?"

Sims thought for a moment. "About fifteen."

The two detectives looked at each other again. Each knew exactly what the other was thinking. Easy access, right time frame. Perhaps Robert Martone was the boy that Linus had allegedly molested ten years before.

Lupo sighed. "Look, this is going to sound really weird, but there've been some… allegations made about him."

"What kind of allegations?"

"That he'd molested a fifteen-year-old boy here in Washingtonville," Bernard answered.

"Where the hell would you get an absurd idea like that?" Sims demanded.

"His accuser sent a letter to a church in Manhattan claiming the guy they knew as Linus Jenkins was a pedophile named Linus Ford. They included that picture from your article. So it had to come from someone here in Washingtonville ten years ago."

He furrowed his brow and studied the two detectives' faces for just a moment. Suddenly, it dawned on him, and his eyes widened. "The Martone boy?" he asked, looking back and forth between the two detectives.

"Well, in our experience, pedophiles take advantage of children they have easy access to."

Sims outright laughed. "Linus? Linus loved kids. Hell, he spent half his life working with children. He'd never hurt a kid."

Lupo glanced at Bernard again. "No offense, Mr. Sims, but how can you be sure?"

Sims leaned forward and put his elbows on his desk, gaze flickering back and forth between the two detectives. "I spent over forty hours observing him and interviewing him. I might've been young back then, but I certainly wasn't stupid. He never even came close to touching those kids inappropriately."

"Seems to be the general consensus," Lupo remarked.

"The Linus I knew was a great guy. He worked hard, and he loved hard. You know that family Bible he took? His daddy was my Sunday School teacher when I was a kid. And his daddy was one of the best men I ever knew." Sims sat back in his chair and folded his hands across his chest. "Besides, there were no charges ever filed."

"Because Ford upped and ran," Bernard said. "What better reason than to escape some sort of charges?"

"And I'm telling you there's no possible way he did that. He was the gentlest guy you'd ever meet."

"Did Robert Martone leave some sort of suicide note?" Lupo asked.

Sims shook his head. "You'd have to ask his sister."

"You know where we can find her?"

He sighed and rubbed his head. "She runs a rock-climbing place."

"A rock-climbing place in Washingtonville?" Bernard asked with an incredulous chuckle.

"Hey, we may be a small town, but we're moving up in the world. It's off Church Street, by the Methodist church."

*****

**Rock My Socks Off  
Washingtonville, New York  
December 16**

"Linus Jenkins?" Audrey Martone, a tall brunette in her late twenties, shook her head. She wiped some chalk from her hands and disconnected her safety line from her harness. "Sorry. Name doesn't ring a bell?"

"How about a picture?" Lupo asked, pulling out the newspaper photo from his pocket.

Audrey took the photo and stared at it for a moment. The two detectives watched her face carefully. Her jaw tightened, but there was no other physical reaction to the photo, much to their surprise. Audrey Martone had a lot of self-control, they had to give her that. "Can't say I recognize him," she replied, giving Lupo back the photograph.

"Well, that's odd," Bernard said as she started to walk toward the counter. "See, we talked to Paul Sims, the reporter that wrote the story? He remembers this guy working for your parents ten years ago, around the time your brother was fifteen. And he's a lot older than you, so I don't think you can claim senility."

She turned to look at them, but said nothing.

"Look," Lupo said, scratching his ear. "You can be honest with us, or we can haul you back to the city and question you there." He shrugged. "Your choice."

Audrey glared at them for a couple seconds before she sighed. "Ford did work for my parents ten years ago."

"That's good," Bernard said. "One truth at a time."

"All of the sudden, he left. No word, no nothing." She paused for a moment, clearly fighting with her emotions. "A couple months after he disappeared, Robbie told me he'd been raped by that son of a bitch." Audrey sighed again, her dark eyes glistening with tears. "He never got over it. He killed himself two years ago."

"We're sorry for your loss."

She nodded. "I just wish I could've gotten my hands on that bastard for what he did to my brother."

"Someone did get his hands on the bastard," Lupo said.

"What?"

"He was murdered two nights ago, in New York," Bernard replied.

Audrey's gaze flitted back and forth between them, searching their faces. Finally she shrugged. "Can't say I'm sorry for it."

"Justice?" Lupo asked.

She stared long and hard at him before answering. "Yeah. Something like that."

Bernard crossed his arms in front of his broad chest. "Where were you the night of the fourteenth?"

Her brow furrowed, but she answered, "At home. All night."

"Alone?"

She paused for a moment. Slowly her eyes narrowed angrily. "Are you accusing me of something?"

"Do you own any knives?"

"Who doesn't?" she asked, her voice rising in pitch and loudness. "Look, I don't need this. Either arrest me now, or get the hell out of my gym."

Lupo and Bernard exchanged looks and turned around to head out the door. Lupo glanced behind them at the young woman. She stared after them, her arms crossed over her stomach and a hard look in her eyes. "That was…"

"Weird," Bernard finished. He pushed open the door and stepped out into the cold winter air, his partner right behind him. A couple of snowflakes landed on his coat, and he pulled it tighter around him to ward off the chill. "I'd really like to find out where she was the night the guy was killed."

"Me too," Lupo replied as he walked around the front of the car to the driver's side. "If she went into the city, she'd have to go through one of the toll plazas on the Thruway."

Bernard nodded, pulling open the passenger door. "I'd definitely say motive fits."

"Now the only problem is finding the proof."

*****

**Precinct 27  
December 17**

"She didn't provide an alibi at all?" Lieutenant Van Buren asked Lupo, who leaned up against the wall of her tiny commander's office.

"She said she was at home all night," Lupo replied with a shrug.

Van Buren snorted. "Where have we heard that before? How'd she get up the trellis?"

"She owns a rock-climbing gym in Washingtonville," Bernard replied. "Not hard for someone who climbs cliffs at Bear Mountain to make it up that trellis. A kid could do it; so could a full-grown woman."

"What about the alibi?"

Bernard took out the folder that was tucked safely under his arm. "We pulled her DMV. Turns out she has an EZ-Pass registered with the state. Her black Lincoln was recorded coming into the city on the Thruway at 8:20 p.m. and didn't leave until after 11."

"That fits within the time frame. But the DA's going to want more. Like evidence that she was the one that sent the letter to the New Hope Church."

Lupo shrugged. "We could get that evidence if we had a search warrant."

"Motive and opportunity should at least get you in the door." Suddenly the lieutenant's phone rang loudly. "Van Buren," she said into the receiver. She listened for a moment and nodded. "They're on their way."

"Where are we on our way to?" Lupo asked as she replaced the receiver.

"The boys' home. I'll talk to the DA about getting the search warrant."

*****

Mrs. Franks had the front door open before the detectives even got out of their car. "Thank God you're here," she said, rubbing her arms to ward off the cold. "I didn't know who else to call."

"What's going on, Mrs. Franks?" Lupo asked as they climbed the front porch steps.

"It's Timmy. Something's wrong." She ushered them into the living room and shut the door behind them. Another little boy dashed past the two detectives, shouting something about aliens. One of the older boys chased after him, roaring like a lion.

Lupo and Bernard exchanged amused glances. "What's that?" Lupo inquired.

"He's had nightmares for the past couple of nights. Bad ones."

"I don't mean to sound insensitive, Mrs. Franks, but finding a dead loved one is traumatic," Bernard said, lowering his large frame onto the couch. "It's normal to have nightmares."

"It's not so much the nightmares," she said softly, running a tired hand over her face. "It's what he wakes up screaming."

"Which is?" Lupo prompted.

"'No. Don't do it'" she quoted the little boy.

The two detectives exchanged glances. Maybe the child didn't just find the body. Maybe he actually saw the murder go down. "We need to talk to him," Bernard said, looking back at the housekeeper.

She nodded. "I thought you might." She led them upstairs to a comfortably furnished boys' room which held two sets of bunk beds, two desks, and four small dressers. The room was fairly cramped, especially for housing four boys. But the house only had six bedrooms, and with thirteen boys and their caregivers, there wasn't much room for everyone.

The tow-headed boy sat on the top bunk of one of the beds, his feet dangling over the edge. He wore an exhausted, dejected look on his face – much too dejected for a boy his age. Lupo couldn't help but feel for the boy. At a time of year that was supposed to be filled with joy, this child had obviously seen too much sorrow for such a youngster.

Bernard stood in the doorway with Mrs. Franks, letting Lupo do all the talking. The other detective had a niece and nephew, which made him more qualified to talk to children in Bernard's book. Lupo had a strange way with kids. They seemed to like him, for some odd reason. Bernard could never figure it out.

"Hey Tim," Lupo said with a smile. The boy looked at him with big blue eyes as the detective sat down on the bottom bunk opposite Tim's bed. "Remember me?"

Tim nodded once.

"Karen tells me you're having a little trouble sleeping since the other night." Lupo watched as the small face darkened. "She says you keep having nightmares."

He didn't say anything. His eyes traveled to the far wall, fixating on anything but the detective.

"Wanna tell me about those nightmares?"

The boy shook his head once.

Lupo scratched behind his ear and then rubbed his beard. "You know what I think? I think you saw a little more than what you really told us. And it's bugging you. Tim, I can't promise that the nightmares'll go away when you tell us, but it might help." Still silence, but Tim at least looked at him. That was a start. "Were you supposed to be in bed?"

Tim's eyes welled up with tears, and he nodded.

"But you got up."

"I had to go to the bathroom," the small boy whispered, so softly the detectives could barely hear him.

"And you passed Linus's room?"

He nodded.

"What did you see in there?"

A lone tear trickled down the boy's flushed cheek, and he wiped it away angrily. Big boys weren't supposed to cry. But he couldn't get the picture out of his head. "I saw the knife," he whispered again.

From the other side of the room, Lupo heard Mrs. Franks gasp, but he ignored it. "Did you see the person who stabbed him?"

Tim nodded again.

"What did he look like?"

"It wasn't a boy," Tim said. Bernard strained to hear this, thinking maybe he didn't hear right.

Apparently Lupo had the same thought. "What do you mean, Tim?"

"It was a girl."

Lupo whipped his head around to look at his partner. "A girl?"

Tim nodded. "I saw a girl. She had a knife. A big knife."

"Did you see what she did with the knife?"

He shook his head. "I think she took it with her. I ran back to my room when I saw…" The boy took a deep breath and wiped at another tear. "I waited until she left before I told Karen."

"Would you remember her face if you saw her again?" Bernard asked from the doorway.

Tim nodded again, streaks going down his small, ruddy cheeks.

Lupo stood up and gently patted the boy's knee. "You did a really brave thing just now, Tim," he said seriously. "We're going to catch this lady, okay?"

Mrs. Franks rushed past the detective to climb up next to the child. He buried his face in her shoulder and sobbed. The picture just about broke the detectives' hearts. The poor kid had suffered enough during his short time on earth to end up in a home like this. And now he'd witnessed the murder of the only person in the world that had ever cared about him.

"What a way to spend Christmas," Bernard whispered to his partner as Lupo joined him in the doorway.

Lupo sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Let's pay another visit to Ms. Martone."

*****

"I'll have you know my lawyer's on the way," Audrey Martone shouted angrily as CSU techs carried her laptop computer out of her bedroom. She hadn't looked happy when she'd opened the door to see Lupo and Bernard standing on her front porch, search warrant in hand. Immediately she'd called her lawyer. Not that Lupo and Bernard cared. That was within her rights.

CSU didn't immediately find anything

"You certainly have the right to do so," Lupo said. He took a step back to examine the bedside table. He'd pulled out the drawer, but the dimensions of the table were all wrong for that size of a drawer.

"What's the matter, Lups?" Bernard asked, coming to stand by his partner.

"This is all wrong." Lupo gestured to the table. "The table's… what… about two feet deep?"

Bernard nodded.

"The drawer's about six inches too short."

The detectives exchanged looks, then simultaneously stepped forward to move the table back from the wall.

"That's private!" she shouted, quickly taking a step forward. A dangerous look from Bernard stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Search warrant, Ms. Martone," the detective said mildly. ADA Connie Rubirosa had been all too thrilled to find a judge to sign off on the warrant when she heard what the little boy had seen. If they had an eyewitness that could identify Audrey Martone as the killer, that made their evidence that much stronger. Physical evidence would make it almost a slam dunk.

Lupo flipped through the book, skimming the small messy handwriting. "It's a journal," he said, tossing it to Bernard.

Bernard opened it and scanned the first page. "There's a name in the front. Robert Martone." He held it up. "It's her brother's journal."

"What does it say?" Lupo asked, making his way around the bed to stand next to his partner.

He flipped it open to the back. "'I can't live with this pain anymore. It just gets worse every single day. For some reason, I just can't get past what that bastard did to me.'" He glanced at his partner. "Pretty powerful stuff."

Before Lupo could reply, a shout came from the kitchen. The detectives hurried out of the bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen on the other side of the house. A CSU tech rushed out, holding a long knife with a serrated blade in his gloved hand. "Found this in the dishwasher," he said, handing the knife to Bernard.

"About eight inches long," Lupo said, peering over Bernard's shoulder. "Consistent with the kind of stab wound on the victim."

Bernard turned the weapon over in his hand. His trained eye spotted a tiny dark stain near the handle… a stain that looked a lot like blood. He handed it to his partner. "That look like blood to you?"

Lupo turned it over in his hands and lifted an eyebrow. "In my vast experience as a detective, I'd say definitely."

The other detective handed it off to the tech. "Bag it." He turned to Audrey Martone, who stood in the living room with her arms crossed over her abdomen. "You can tell your lawyer that he'll have to pay for a trip into the city. Yours is free of charge."

"What the hell are you talking about?" she demanded. Her gaze flickered back and forth between the two men.

"Audrey Martone, you're under arrest for the murder of Linus Ford, also known as Linus Jenkins," Bernard said, pulling out his cuffs. Within seconds, he was behind her, firmly pulling her arms behind her back.

"What?!" she shouted. "This is insane!"

"You have the right to remain silent. If you give up that right, anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law." Bernard clicked the cuffs into place over her loud protests. "And I suggest you listen to that part."

Lupo harrumphed. "For our sakes. Listening to this for an hour is worse than your Christmas music."

*****

ADA Connie Rubirosa poured herself a cup of the black sludge the 2-7 called coffee and grimaced. The tall, gorgeous brunette hated the coffee at the precinct. Even that crap they called caffeine at the DA's office wasn't as bad as the stuff they made there. It stood to reason that a bunch of guys who could barely boil noodles couldn't make a decent cup of coffee. Still… how hard could it possibly be to measure out a little coffee and put it in a clean filter? Not even Mike Cutter's coffee was that bad.

She shrugged off the thoughts of her boss again, like she'd been doing for over a year. She wasn't about to go there. Not again.

"Connie."

She turned to see Lieutenant Van Buren usher in a young boy and an older woman. They were tightly bundled in a couple of old, worn coats. Rubirosa's compassionate heart sank at the sight of the tears in the poor boy's bright blue coat.

"Connie, this is Mrs. Karen Franks, the housekeeper for the boys' home. Mrs. Franks, this is Connie Rubirosa, our ADA."

Mrs. Franks politely stuck out her hand, which Rubirosa shook gently. "You're going to put who did this in jail, right?"

Connie smiled reassuringly. "We'll certainly do our best." She bent down to the level of the boy, who shied away from her. She resisted the urge to grin. "You must be Tim, right?"

The child nodded and pulled even closer to his caregiver's side.

"Tim, I'm Connie. We're going to take you into that room, and you're going to look at some people. And you'll tell us if you recognize them, okay?"

"Can they see me?" he asked softly.

Connie shook her head. "No. You can see them, but they can't see you. Okay?"

Tim nodded again. Van Buren gave the young ADA a slight smile and led the group into the lineup room near the interrogation rooms. She pulled up a stool for the boy, and Mrs. Franks grunted as she lifted him onto the stool.

Suddenly the door opened, and a tall, blonde woman stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. "Sorry I'm late," Jennifer Malowski said with a smile. A fairly high-powered attorney from Newburgh, Rubirosa recognized her from another case they'd worked about a year ago, a guy who'd beaten his girlfriend with a baseball bat. Michael Cutter had won that case, and it looked like Malowski was back for blood. Her blue eyes turned to Connie. "Nice to see you again, Connie."

Connie grinned. "Wish I could say the same, Jenn."

Van Buren pressed a button on the intercom. "Bring 'em in," she said.

One by one, six women filed into the lineup room. An exhausted-looking Audrey Martone wore a big black "4" on a placard around her neck. She looked around, obviously nervous about being there.

"Do you recognize any of these women, Tim?" Van Buren asked.

Tim drew in a deep breath and looked at Mrs. Franks. The older woman nodded at him and gave him a smile. The boy turned his gaze back to the window and blew out a breath. "Number four," he said quietly.

"Where did you see her?"

"In Linus's room." His eyes filled with tears suddenly, and he inhaled again. "She stabbed him."

Connie exchanged glances with the lieutenant. They had her.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, guys! I really appreciate them! Sorry this is late again... one of my good friends from high school got married tonight, so I've been pretty busy all day. Hopefully I did the legal part justice here. My goal is to update twice tomorrow to get the fluffy part in by Christmas (this will have 7 chapters, by the way), so be on the lookout. Happy Eve of Christmas Eve to everyone!**

**Chapter 5**

**Arraignment, Part 17  
December 18**

"Docket ending 1-2-7-8-9, _People versus Audrey Martone_. Charge is murder in the second degree."

The familiar words echoed through the hallowed halls of Part 17, one of the many courtrooms in the county courthouse. ADA Connie Rubirosa sighed as the guard brought a haggard-looking woman to the opposite podium. Here she was, exactly a week before Christmas, in court arraigning a woman for murder. So much for the idea of peace on earth, good will toward men. She'd learned a long time ago that although the holidays made things a little better, criminals didn't always stop to observe Christmas. If anything, they came out in greater numbers and in stranger fashions.

One week before Christmas, and snow still softly floated down from the sky. Connie was actually rather excited that there was snow. It made playing with all her nieces and nephews that much more fun.

The courtroom was strangely empty compared to its normal state of chaos. Usually reporters, defendants, attorneys, clerks, loved ones, and curious bystanders crowded the courtroom, making the lawyers at the podiums practically shout to be heard. But now, just one week before the biggest holiday of the year, the vast, hallowed room was almost silent, except for a couple of big guys awaiting arraignment for a bar fight.

"How does the defendant plead?" The judge's voice jerked Connie back to the present, and she quickly opened the file in front of her that held all her notes.

"Not guilty." Audrey Martone's voice was soft, quiet, and exhausted. The woman had obviously had a rough night down at County. The ADA felt just a pang of compassion for the woman. Just a pang. After all, it was Christmas.

"The People request remand, Your Honor," Rubirosa said, making a note on her legal pad.

"Your Honor, remand is absolutely absurd," Malowski said loudly. Connie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. There wasn't anyone in the courtroom for the woman to play for, except maybe her client.

"I'm sure you have a fascinating reason," Judge Bradley said in a bored tone.

"Your Honor, my client has never been in trouble with the law before. She owns her own business in Washingtonville, where she's lived all her life. We ask for one hundred thousand dollars."

"Your Honor," Connie interrupted. "The victim in this case ran a home for boys. She drove into the city and stabbed a man to death while he was lying asleep in his own bed. It's painfully obvious this is premeditation."

"A man who was also accused ten years ago of molesting a little boy," Malowski countered quickly.

"That's for the jury to sort out. Audrey Martone has no ties to _this _community, and if we send her back to Washingtonville, I'm not sure we'll see her again."

"Your Honor," Malowski began.

Bradley held up his hand. "I agree with Ms. Rubirosa."

"But it's Christmas, Your Honor," Malowski said.

Connie's mouth almost dropped open. That was a dirty, dirty trick – using the holidays to garner sympathy from the judge. "The time of the year is irrelevant, Your Honor. It's the defendant's fault she chose to murder someone a week before Christmas!"

"How about a little good will toward men, Ms. Rubirosa?" Bradley admonished, shuffling some papers on his desk. "Ballpark figure?"

She sighed and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Connie Rubirosa was all for Christmas spirit, but this was just ridiculous. Mike Cutter would certainly not be happy to hear about that. "The People are fine with $250,000."

"Your Honor –" Malowski started to object, but Bradley cut her off.

"That sounds fair, Ms. Malowski. Bail is set at $250,000, cash or bond. We're in recess." The banging of the gavel echoed through the empty courtroom.

Malowski watched as her client was led away, and then she turned to Rubirosa. The attorney swept back a strand of blonde hair as she leaned against the opposite podium. "Where's your spirit of Christmas, Connie?"

Connie slid two manila file folders into her leather briefcase and turned to the other woman. "My spirit of Christmas is none of your concern. Your client killed the only father thirteen boys had ever known."

"My client didn't do it."

"Oh, save me the 'my client didn't do it even though the evidence says otherwise' spiel. If I remember right, that's what you said last time. And the jury sent him to prison for fifteen years."

"Linus Ford was a pedophile, and you know it."

"Actually, I don't know that. And you don't either."

Malowski shrugged. "Either way, it gives mitigating circumstances."

Connie elegantly cocked an eyebrow at the other woman. "Don't tell me you're giving an affirmative defense."

"I was going to wait until after the holidays, but since you bring it up." Malowski pulled two blue-backed legal documents out of her briefcase and handed them to the exasperated ADA.

"What the hell are these?"

"Consider them my Christmas gift to you." With one last grin that never reached her eyes, Malowski turned on her heel and flounced out of the courtroom.

*****

Mike Cutter sighed, incredibly annoyed. Some secretary outside his office was getting into the Christmas spirit by blasting carols over her radio as loud as it could go. From inside his office, he heard Jack McCoy shouting at the woman to turn the damn thing down. Cutter was beyond thrilled that the DA would step in – mostly so he wouldn't have to. He loved Christmas as much as the next guy, but this was just getting a little ridiculous. Garlands and wreaths hung throughout the office, put there by somebody watching too many Christmas specials on TV. Someone had even hung paper snowflakes from the ceiling tiles, turning the office into a very non-environmentally-friendly winter wonderland.

A soft knock sounded at his door, and he looked up to see Connie Rubirosa standing in his doorway. He couldn't resist letting a little smile cross his face when he saw her. For some reason, his day always got better when she walked into it.

"How'd it go?" he asked, catching a whiff of her perfume as she crossed his office. Briefly he thought of the little brightly-wrapped package he had stashed away in his apartment. He'd wanted to get her a Christmas present, but he wasn't completely sure it was crossing that line. She had always been completely professional to him, and he knew she wasn't oblivious to his hints of attraction. She was too smart for that. But when he found her gift, he just couldn't let it go. Maybe she wouldn't think anything of it. But he hoped she did. He'd liked her for a long time. Not just a passing attraction, but _really_ strong feelings for her. He had it bad for Connie Rubirosa… so bad he wasn't sure he'd ever get over it.

Connie sighed and sank into her usual chair at the corner of his desk. "Bradley gave her bail. And – surprise, surprise – Malowski's moving fast." She tossed the motions on his desk.

Cutter opened them and quickly scanned the first document. "Motion to exclude the eyewitness testimony?"

"She's claiming Tim Dowd's too young to understand the meaning of an oath." Connie ran a hand through her dark hair.

"Kid's almost eleven years old. What eleven-year-old doesn't understand the meaning of a lie versus the truth?"

"I know some adults that don't know that difference."

Cutter chuckled.

"Even if he does exclude the boy's testimony, I'm not sure it'll really affect the case. The blood on the handle of the knife matches the victim. We've got her coming and going into the city the night he was killed. And she's got a solid motive."

"Linus Jenkins abused her brother."

"Which brings us to the next motion."

He flipped over to the next blue-back and skimmed it. "Extreme emotional disturbance?"

"The catch-all defense." They looked up to see District Attorney Jack McCoy standing in the doorway that connected to his office. "Not quite insanity, but good enough to remove responsibility."

"That's the wonderful thing about Christmas," Cutter said with a sigh, leaning back in his chair. "There's always an excuse for everything."

Connie cocked an eyebrow at her boss. "I never took you for such a cynic, Mike."

"Hey, I like Christmas; I'm a big fan. But there's a difference between celebrating grace and not taking responsibility for your actions."

McCoy chuckled. "You've been hanging around me too long. What's the other motion?"

"Motion to suppress the boy's testimony," Connie answered.

The DA nodded and grinned at his subordinates. "Check _Malinda_ on that crazy device of yours."

*****

**Motion Hearing, chambers of Judge Walter Bradley  
December 19**

Fortunately, the heat in the courthouse had been repaired after it crashed the night before. The temperature outside had dipped below freezing once again, even though the snow had finally stopped. A good six inches of snow still lay on the ground, keeping the hope of a white Christmas very much alive in the heart s of the children of New York.

Cutter and Connie sat in chairs in front of the judge's wide mahogany desk. They'd stayed up until the wee hours of the night researching precedent for both suppressing a child's testimony and extreme emotional disturbance as a defense. Connie had to admit, she enjoyed working with Mike Cutter. He was incredibly intelligent and occasionally funny. Even though she claimed she didn't have feelings for him, she found herself wondering what it would be like to actually go on a date with him – and not with the normal takeout they usually had. She was certainly attracted to him, that much she could admit to. At least to herself.

"All right, ladies and gentlemen," Judge Bradley said, plopping down into his plush leather chair. "Let's get this started so we can get out of here at a decent time. What's first?"

His clerk handed him a piece of paper, and the judge skimmed it quickly. "Motion to suppress the testimony of an eyewitness?"

"Your Honor," Malowski said quickly, not giving Cutter a chance to even open his mouth. "The eyewitness in this case is a ten-year-old boy. The inability of children to properly remember the events of a case is well-documented in the judicial system."

"And yet, the court has still upheld that the testimony of children is admissible," Cutter jumped in. "The court in California upheld _Malinda_ on appeal. Your Honor can talk to him and determine whether he's competent to give testimony."

"In a custody or divorce hearing, Your Honor," Malowski countered.

"_People v. Maletkov_," Cutter replied calmly. "The eyewitness testimony of a child was admissible, even though the child was not given an oath. The validity of his testimony, as long as he's not committing perjury, is for the jury to decide. And in this case, his testimony is backed up by physical evidence."

Bradley nodded. "I agree, Mr. Cutter. Precedent is clear on this one. I'll talk to the boy in chambers and determine whether he can be sworn in. But his testimony can be admitted into evidence. Motion to suppress is denied. What's next?"

"We wish to give an affirmative defense. Extreme emotional disturbance. The victim's abuse of my client's brother drove her to commit murder," Malowski said.

"Your Honor, there's no supporting evidence of abuse by the victim," Connie said.

"And that's irrelevant. My client believed that Linus Ford molested her brother, and that caused her to commit murder."

"After ten years!" Connie exclaimed.

"Since Mr. Cutter's such a big fan of precedent, _People v. Roche_. The New York Court of Appeals overturned Roche's conviction because he was emotionally disturbed. Under New York state law, it's a valid defense."

"It's an end-run around insanity, Your Honor," Cutter said, gesturing wildly. "She wasn't quite crazy, so maybe she was disturbed enough to commit premeditated murder. She just doesn't want to take responsibility for her actions."

"Shouldn't that be for the jury to decide?"

Cutter opened his mouth to retort, but Bradley held up a hand to silence him. "She's right, Mr. Cutter. I don't like it either, but under the law, Ms. Martone has the right to present an affirmative defense. Motion to present the defense of extreme emotional disturbance is granted. We'll begin jury selection on January 7, and I want to see the boy in my chambers on December 27."

*****

**December 20**

On the day of the DA's Christmas party, everything stopped. Open cases sat in inboxes, arraignments halted, motions waited, and subpoenas stayed in the secretaries' typewriters. It was the one time of the year that even the DA took some time off to mingle with his subordinates.

The conference room looked like the Santa's North Pole at Macy's. Tinsel and garlands were draped across the walls, and Christmas music played softly in the background. Several junior ADA's were gathered around the punch bowl talking boisterously, their normally quiet demeanors boosted by the alcohol in the punch bowl. The Christmas cookies, the kind that was covered with wonderfully sweet icing, were almost gone, and one of the secretaries had even made a cake for the occasion. That was just about gone too, half of it having been eaten by one of the junior ADA's fresh out of law school.

Connie Rubirosa sat quietly in a corner, away from all the action. Mike Cutter was across the room, talking animatedly with the new ADA in Sex Crimes. He'd told his assistant that he wanted to see if she was as bad as everyone said she was. From the annoyed look on his face, she was.

Connie stifled a yawn and set her cup of punch down on the chair next to her. She hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, her mind cluttered with the thoughts of her changing relationship with her boss.

He'd made it clear that he was attracted to her, but she'd turned him down more than once. What scared her more was the fact that her feelings for him seemed to be shifting to something less than professional. She'd always sworn that she wouldn't be one of those women that dated her boss, but those feelings that she'd stamped down for so long were coming back even stronger now. It had even driven her to buy him a Christmas present, an act she was sure crossed the line. She just couldn't figure out when things had started to shift for her. Maybe it was that case they'd had a couple of months ago with his "friend" the law clerk. Though she said she wasn't jealous, she knew the truth. She had been jealous of Carly's relationship with him. And it was a thought that thrilled her and scared her at the same time.

For the past couple of days, her thoughts had been consumed by him. She wanted to be able to have a conversation with him like the one they'd had in the car. She wanted to be near him, to talk to him, to smell his cologne. Good Lord, she had it bad. And she had no idea how it had gotten that way.

Suddenly she felt a presence next to her, and she looked up to see Jack McCoy giving her a big grin.

"You look lonely over here," he said, moving her cup to sit down next to her.

"Just thinking," she replied, returning his smile.

"I bet I know what you're thinking about. Or rather, whom."

She looked at him sharply. "What are you talking about, Jack?"

McCoy gave her a look with a furrowed brow. "Don't play dumb, Connie. I've been around a lot longer than you have."

Connie harrumphed. "That's for sure."

"Hey." He nudged her shoulder gently. McCoy had felt rather protective of his former assistant ever since Cutter took over for him as Executive ADA. She was a damn fine attorney, but she was young. And he certainly didn't want a smooth-talking attorney to break her heart, especially Cutter. "What's really wrong, Connie?"

She sighed again and folded her arms across her abdomen in a classic defensive posture. "I don't know. Just confused, I guess."

McCoy looked back and forth between the ADA and his executive. He'd been around the block a few times with his assistants – actually three times. He knew the imminent signs. The teasing banter they shared, the knowing looks, the surreptitious glances when each thought no one was looking. It wouldn't be too long. "Just keep it out of the office, okay?"

Connie opened her mouth to make a smart-aleck retort, but Cutter sauntered up just when it was on the tip of her tongue. Her mouth snapped shut.

"Hey, Jack," the EADA greeted his boss, shooting a huge grin her way.

"I heard you won one of your motions," McCoy said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. His relationship with his EADA had been strained, until recently. Cutter thought his boss was hovering too much, and McCoy thought his subordinate was as stubborn as an ass. But they'd managed to come to a quasi-stable relationship as McCoy settled into his administrative position more.

Cutter nodded. "Judge kept in the boy's testimony, but he's letting them go for an affirmative defense."

"Any basis for it?"

"She thinks Ford molested her brother when he was fifteen." Connie shook her head. "To tell you the truth, Jack, I can't see it. I've talked to his housekeeper, all of the boys at his house, some of the people in Washingtonville, and a bunch of the people that knew him here, and none of them think that he could've done something to any kid."

"What about someone who knew the whole family? They might be able to give you some perspective on this."

"I could use some fresh perspective," Cutter said, running his hand through his hair. "I'd really like to keep this out of court, Jack."

"Why the hell would you want to do that?"

Cutter shrugged. "It's Christmas. That boy's been through enough as it is."

McCoy sighed and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You realize you're throwing away a perfectly strong case?"

"I'm not talking about trading in the courthouse. I mean a fair deal, where she still serves jail time. Something happened to her brother."

"But what?" Connie asked, giving her boss a meaningful look.

McCoy sighed again. "Find out. And then decide whether to offer her a plea."

They both nodded, and Connie whispered something to Cutter about giving somebody a call. Cutter nodded and watched her go, sighing as she walked out the door. Somehow the room always felt emptier when she left. Immediately he stopped and shook his head. He had it bad for his assistant. Good God, he really was like Jack McCoy.

McCoy watched his executive assistant with great interest. Seemed like Connie's attraction to her boss was mutual. He'd known that Cutter thought she was attracted, but he recognized the look in the man's eyes. He was sure that was the same look he had nearly fifteen years before when he fell for one of his assistants. "Mike," he said softly.

Cutter turned around to face his boss, an inquisitive look in his blue eyes.

"You hurt her, and I swear, I'll not only fire you, but I'll make sure you never practice as an ADA anywhere in the continental United States."

Cutter opened his mouth to say something, but the DA brushed past him to talk to another group of ADA's by the punch. The younger man's eyes followed his boss, narrowing curiously. What the hell could McCoy have meant by that?


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: All right, here's the first of two updates I should make for today! I'm just finishing up the final chapter. It seems like this one can't decide how many chapters it wants to have. Thanks to Taggard and FunkyinFishnets for reviewing last night! And Happy Christmas Eve to you all!**

**Chapter 6**

**House of Paula McDonald  
Washingtonville, New York  
December 20**

It was a long trip to Washingtonville, especially with it being the weekend before Christmas and the snow still on the ground. The trip wasn't nearly as bad as Connie had thought it would be. Cutter had a wide selection of music, and surprisingly, plenty of Christmas music. "Christmas with the Rat Pack?" she'd asked incredulously.

Cutter had merely grinned at her with that same boyish charm that mesmerized juries. It was a grin that nearly made her heart stop, a reaction which completely caught her off guard. "I'm not a total Scrooge, Connie."

As they drove, he found himself becoming more and more enchanted with his beautiful young assistant. Her stories of Christmas with her huge family were both funny and sweet, and they helped him get a deeper look into her heart. He'd always known she was a compassionate woman, but this was giving him a different perspective on her.

After two long hours discussing Christmases past, they finally pulled up to the address given to them by Paul Sims the reporter. It was a stately two-story house with a wide wrap-around porch, its roof covered in a layer or snow. Norman Rockwall couldn't have painted it any better.

"I have to admit, I was rather surprised when I got your call." Paula McDonald was a gray-haired woman in her fifties. She had been a high school counselor in Washingtonville while the Martones were in high school, and she knew the family well, having lived in Washingtonville her entire life.

"We were hoping you could tell us a little more about what happened ten years ago," Cutter said, sitting down next to his assistant on McDonald's plush couch. They had managed to track down Ms. McDonald through Robert Martone's journal, which they had been scrutinizing for days. It was perfectly obvious to both of them that something had happened to the boy when he was fifteen. But the question was what.

"We've been going over his journal for days, and we think something did happen to him," Connie said, leaning back against the headrest. She tried to ignore how Cutter's shoulder brushed against hers. "But we just don't know what."

Ms. McDonald sighed. "He never directly told me anything about being molested."

"But you suspected something?" Rubirosa prompted.

The other woman nodded. "Before, he was always an outgoing boy. Smart, popular, athletic. But then he became withdrawn. His grades dropped, he quit basketball, he became a loner." She sighed. "I'd always thought there was a chance of suicide, but he never gave any of the warning signs."

"Did he ever mention Linus Ford?" Cutter asked. "He told his sister that Ford was the man that molested him."

She laughed humorlessly. "Linus was probably one of the gentlest men you'd ever meet. He watched over those kids like a hawk. Almost like they were his own children. He had a great relationship with Robbie until Robbie started to withdraw."

"What can you tell us about Audrey's relationship with her brother?" Connie inquired.

"Oh, those two were closer than close. They were only a couple of years apart in age, and both of them enjoyed similar things – music, sports, especially rock climbing. Audrey was the one that found him, you know."

Connie nodded. "We'd heard that."

"Her brother's suicide tore her up. She always swore that she'd find the man responsible for it and make sure he paid. Her brother slit his wrists with a knife in his own home." Ms. McDonald shook her head sadly. "It was a shame too. He was such a bright boy. And she was such a bright girl too."

"That seems to be the general story," Connie said, looking at Cutter. "We've been over his journals, and he talks about Audrey a lot."

"I know Audrey thinks Linus molested Robbie. But I just didn't see it. He never acted inappropriately with him."

"But Robert was molested?" Connie asked.

"I'm pretty sure he was."

"What about other relationships with men in his life? Were there any other men he was close to?" Cutter asked.

Ms. McDonald thought for a moment. "He always had a close relationship with his father."

Connie's eyebrows went up, and she exchanged a glance with Cutter. "His father?" she echoed.

"Mr. Martone was always very close to his son. Came to all his games, brought him things at school. As a matter of fact, I don't think I really saw his mother too much. His father was always the one involved in his life."

"What about Mrs. Martone?"

"She was more of a stay-at-home mom. I think she was rather unhappy about it as well. She loved her kids though. To tell you the truth, though, I don't know if Robert really enjoyed all the attention his father gave him. He always seemed to get this weird look on his face, like he really didn't want his father to be around. I chalked it up to adolescent rebellion."

The two ADA's exchanged another look and quickly excused themselves from the woman's house, claiming they had to get back to the city before the snow started again – an excuse that was only half true. As the door closed behind them, Connie turned to Cutter. "What did you think about that?"

Cutter glanced at his assistant with a grin on his handsome face. "I think there's more to this than meets the eye."

*****

"What?" McCoy practically bellowed, ignoring the stern look his secretary gave him when she poked her head into his office to see what was the matter.

Cutter glanced at Connie and shrugged his shoulders. "It's been known to happen, Jack. Situational molesters usually target children close to them."

"But doesn't that apply to Jenkins too? All Malowski has to do is put Martone on the stand and instruct her to tell the jury how her brother told her Jenkins molested him. She'll have the jury sobbing their eyes out when she tells them how she found her brother after he'd committed suicide because of the abuse he suffered."

"And when they hear about how she premeditated the whole thing, and might've gotten it wrong, they'll still convict on Murder Two," Connie added.

"Besides, we've got Jenkins' record with the boys," Cutter said quickly. He recognized that look in McCoy's eyes. It generally meant that McCoy was getting more than a little pissed. "And Tim Dowd's a sympathetic witness. He's the one that'll have the jury bawling their eyes out when he tells them how he saw Audrey Martone slaughter the only caregiver he's ever known."

McCoy's eyes narrowed at his chief prosecutor. "Weren't you the one that told me you didn't want to put the boy through anything else?"

"I don't, but if you make me prosecute, I don't see what choice I have."

"And you have yet to give me a solid reason to give her a deal. Especially if she killed the wrong molester."

Connie's eyebrows went up. "What about Christmas?"

McCoy glared solemnly at his former assistant. "Not good enough. The suspicions of a high school counselor won't be enough to convince Malowski to take a deal, especially since the same high school counselor thought it was just adolescent rebellion. Malowski thinks she's got this thing won, even with the physical evidence. You've got a sympathetic defendant and a less-than-honest victim."

Cutter sighed and shot another glance in Connie's direction. "So what should we do?"

"Find some evidence – real evidence this time."

*****

**December 22**

It had started snowing again sometime during the night, turning the brightly lit city into a beautiful wonderland. On the Upper West Side, the streets echoed with the sounds of children laughing and playing in the snow.

Cutter dodged a snowball thrown at him by one of the tenants of Linus Jenkins' boys' home, giving the child a huge grin and a wave. "Nice arm," he called.

Connie laughed. "You're such a kid." And to some extent, it was true. Cutter exuded boyish charm, a trait that garnered him jury after jury. For his job, it was certainly one of his strengths. With his dark blonde hair dotted with flecks of white snowflakes and his cheeks flushed from the cold, he looked exactly like he belonged with those children.

"Christmas brings out the child in everyone," he shot back, wiping some snow off his coat where another boy had pegged him with the tightly packed snow. He swallowed hard as he looked at his assistant. She'd never looked as beautiful to him as she did in that moment. Snowflakes clung to her short dark hair, and her brown eyes twinkled with humor. Briefly he wondered how she would react if he reached out to brush the snowflakes away, tangling his fingers in her hair. Maybe not. She probably wouldn't have appreciated that too much.

"Sorry about that." Mrs. Franks stood in the doorway, rubbing her arms briskly. She smiled as Connie and Cutter made their way up the porch steps. "They get a little excited when it snows."

"I completely understand," Cutter said, smiling easily. He had a way of putting people at ease. It was part of how he was so effective as a prosecutor.

"Mrs. Franks, this is my colleague, Mike Cutter," Connie said, quickly introducing them. "Mike, this is Karen Franks."

The older woman stuck out her hand, a huge smile gracing her face when Cutter took it. "It's a pleasure, Mr. Cutter. Come in and get warm."

As they stepped into the parlor, Cutter took the time to glance around the spacious room. When Lupo and Bernard told him about the shape the house was in, he thought they were exaggerating. But now, standing there, the two detectives had actually been pretty conservative in their assessment. He easily spotted a huge crack running from the top of the front door to the doorway leading to the living room. Water had weakened the wood floor, and he could see it sagging in places.

"Could I take your coat, Mr. Cutter?"

Mrs. Franks' voice broke into his thoughts, and Cutter looked at her, surprised. Finally her words registered. "Oh. Sure, thanks," he said with a smile, handing her his coat.

The housekeeper hung both their coats up in the closet by the stairway and led them into the living room. "I'm sorry the house is such a mess," she said, motioning to the couch across from the brightly lit Christmas tree as she lowered her frame into a comfortable armchair nearby. "With the boys off from school and just me, it's hard keeping things straight."

"It's a lovely house," Connie said quickly, glancing at Cutter.

"I have to tell you, Ms. Rubirosa, I'm getting a little worried about Tim. He hasn't been sleeping too much lately. He keeps having those awful nightmares."

Cutter leaned forward a little, resting his elbows on his knees. "In our experience, it's pretty normal for someone who witnessed a murder to be affected by us. If you want, we can give you the number of a psychiatrist to examine him."

"We work with some fine psychiatrists," Connie interjected. "After the trial, it might help him."

Mrs. Franks nodded. "I'd appreciate that, but I don't know how we'll afford it. Linus ran most of the finances, and we were struggling when he died."

"That's what the detectives told us," Cutter said.

"I'll be glad once he testifies and this whole situation is over. You said the judge wants to meet with him after Christmas?"

Connie nodded. "Like I told you on the phone, he just wants to determine whether Tim can tell an oath. It's nothing really unusual in cases where children are eyewitnesses."

"Karen?"

A small voice startled all three of them, and Cutter looked up to see a small boy in a faded Giants football jersey standing in the doorway. The blonde-haired boy's eyes were sad… too sad for a boy his age.

"That's Tim Dowd," Connie whispered in his ear. He'd figured that, just by the look on his face.

"Yes, Tim?" Mrs. Franks asked warmly, standing up to join him.

"Damien's crying. He fell and bumped his head."

Mrs. Franks glanced back at the two prosecutors. "Could you excuse me for a moment?"

They nodded simultaneously. "Hey, Tim," Connie said with a brilliant smile before the boy turned to go.

Mrs. Franks nudged him gently. "You remember Connie, right, Tim?"

The boy nodded, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly in a sad smile. "Hey."

"Tim, this is my friend Mike. He works with me."

Cutter smiled at the boy. "Hey, Tim."

"Connie said she puts bad people in jail. You do too?"

Cutter's genuine smile immediately widened as he glanced at Connie before turning back to the boy. "Yeah, I do."

Tim nodded. If the strange man worked with the pretty lady and put bad people in jail too, that made him okay in his book. With that understanding, he turned around and headed up the stairs, Mrs. Franks' hands firmly on his small shoulders.

"Lupo and Bernard weren't kidding," Connie whispered when she was sure they had disappeared completely.

"This place could use a visit to Home Depot," Cutter agreed.

"You heard her. No money."

Cutter scratched the back of his head thoughtfully. "We'll just have to figure out something."

"Mike, we can't give her the money. It'd create a conflict of interest."

He shrugged. "I guess we'll have to figure out something else. They can't keep living in a house that's falling down around them."

In that moment, they heard a heavy footstep on the stairs, much too heavy for a child. Sure enough, within a couple of seconds, Mrs. Franks reentered the living room, carrying a small book in one hand. "I'm sorry about that."

Connie shook her head and smiled. "It happens with kids"

"Actually, I was glad you called, Ms. Rubirosa. I'd been going through some of Linus's personal things for the past couple of days, after the funeral. I found something that might be of use to you." She handed the thin book to Cutter.

"It's a journal," he said, skimming the first couple of pages.

"I read parts of it. When the detectives told me that Linus had lived a completely different life, I wanted to find out what he was like before I met him ten years ago. I couldn't get through them all."

Cutter pulled a stack of photos from the journal and quickly flipped through them. Suddenly he stopped and nudged his assistant. "Connie, take a look at this." He handed her a couple of the pictures.

She studied them for a moment, and her brown eyes widened. "Certainly didn't see that one coming."

"What was it the counselor in Washingtonville said?"

A smile slowly spread across Connie's face. "Closer than close."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: All right, here's my last update until tomorrow! This wraps up the case, and tomorrow will wrap up the romance. Until then, Merry Christmas everyone.**

**Chapter 7**

**Rose M. Singer's Center  
Riker's Island  
December 24**

Connie waited impatiently with Cutter in one of the interview rooms at the women's center for holding. This wasn't exactly how she'd envisioned her Christmas Eve. She'd pictured sitting by the fire with her huge family… her nieces and nephews playing loudly on the floor… the smell of Christmas flan in the air… watching "A Christmas Carol" on television… curled up with a blanket. Instead, she was stuck in a drafty old interview room on Riker's Island. At least the company wasn't bad.

Ever since they'd traveled to Washingtonville together, she couldn't get her boss out of her mind. She'd learned more about him in the four hours they'd spent in the car than she had for the year they'd worked together. Like how his parents lived on Long Island and he'd been to visit them every Christmas except this one. Like how he had a younger sister living in Illinois, with two young children that he'd never seen. Like how his favorite Christmas memory happened when he was six years old and his father gave him his first ball and bat. For once, they were just Connie and Mike, two friends taking a road trip together.

And for the first time in a long time, she found herself slowly falling for him. She'd thought about it long and hard, and she didn't want to be so professional anymore. She wanted him.

Finally, the door buzzed open, and Audrey Martone followed her livid attorney into the interview room.

"I hope you have a good reason for this, Cutter," Malowski said sharply. "Dragging us out here on Christmas Eve."

"I'm sorry for the lousy timing, but we thought your client might like what we have to say."

"When did you get so generous?" Malowski said with a laugh.

Cutter shrugged. "Christmas brings out the best in everyone. Even me."

Malowski looked at him intensely for a moment, then sat down next to her client. "What's the offer?"

Connie glanced at her boss, then turned to the other woman. "Murder two, twelve and a half to twenty-five."

"No dice, Connie," Malowski said, shaking her head. "Man one, five to seven."

"Your client killed a man," Cutter said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table.

"We've got evidence coming out of our ears," Connie interjected. "Eyewitness testimony, the knife that killed Jenkins in your client's house, your client entering the city the night of the murder, and motive. Adds up to premeditation."

"I don't think I've prosecuted this tight of a case in my entire career," Cutter added.

Malowski shook her head. "And I've got the most sympathetic defendant you've ever seen. Robert Martone was molested and then committed suicide. As soon as the jury hears what a bastard the man was, they'll be lining up to shake my client's hand after returning a verdict of not guilty."

"Linus Jenkins was a good man," Connie retorted.

"He raped my brother!" Martone shouted, pushing back her chair. "He deserved to die!"

"How do you know that Linus molested your brother?" Cutter asked, turning his intense blue eyes onto the livid woman.

Martone looked confused for a moment, glancing at her attorney. "Robert told me so. Just before he died."

"Did you ever consider that maybe he was lying?"

Her eyes hardened. "Why the hell would he lie about something like that?"

"To protect someone else," Connie replied gently.

Malowski's eyes narrowed. "What are you pulling on us, Connie?"

"My brother wouldn't lie to me about being molested," Martone said sharply.

"We don't think he was lying about that," Cutter answered. "We think he lied about who did it."

Martone looked at Cutter wide-eyed. "What?"

"Were you surprised when your brother told you that Linus had molested him?"

"Of course I was. Linus had always been good to us."

Connie nodded. "That's what the guidance counselor at your high school told us. And that's what we've been hearing from every person we talked to for the last five days."

"My guidance counselor?"

"How was your brother's relationship with your father?"

"It was fine."

Malowski waved her hand through the air flippantly. "I don't see what –"

"Let us finish, Jenn," Connie interrupted. "You didn't notice your father acting strangely toward your brother?"

Martone glanced back and forth between the ADA's and her attorney. She wore a confused expression on her face, as if she couldn't absorb everything the two prosecutors were telling her.

Cutter leaned back in his chair, scratching at the back of his head, ruffling his dark blonde hair. "Ms. McDonald noticed something seemed a little off. Like how your father came to all your brother's basketball games. Or the school play. Did you ever notice your brother seemed a little uncomfortable with all of your father's attention?"

"My brother was just shy."

Connie raised an eyebrow at the woman. "You know that's not true. Your brother was a very popular guy. We talked to a couple of his classmates. Basketball player, first in his class until after his sophomore year."

Martone stared at Connie, completely bamboozled. But from the look in her eyes, understanding was about to break through.

"I think we're done here," Malowski said quickly. The chair scraped at the tile floor as she moved it back, the sound echoing through the room. There was no way in hell she was letting Mike Cutter take this case from her. She had an emotional disturbance plea in the bag. "Let's go, Audrey."

"No," Martone said quietly. "I want to hear what they have to say."

Cutter reached into his briefcase and pulled out Robert Martone's journal. Audrey Martone's eyes glistened when she saw the book in the prosecutor's hands. "Listen to this entry from your brother. _'He won't stop coming into my room at night. I wish I was strong enough to fight back… or weak enough to die. I can't take much more of this._'"

A tear slid down Audrey Martone's cheek, making a single thin streak down the side of her face. Though she'd read the journal thousands of times since her brother's suicide, the pain was still as fresh as the first day she read it.

He handed the book to Connie, who flipped to another marked page. "Here's another one, dated a couple of months afterward. _'Audrey won't stop hounding me about what's wrong. I can't tell her the truth. It would ruin everything. But she won't leave me alone. I don't know what to do'._"

He pulled out another book from his briefcase, this one with Linus Jenkins' name etched on the front cover. "We found this among Linus's possessions. It's his journal. Mind if I read a portion?"

"Of course we –" Malowski began viciously, but Martone stopped her with a wave of her hand.

"Go on, Mr. Cutter," she whispered.

Cutter nodded and opened the book to the page he'd marked the night before. "'_For the first time in my life, I have to leave Washingtonville. Not because of something I've done, but because of something my boss will not stop doing. I've told him before that I would go to the police, but as usual, he has the upper hand. "Who's going to believe you?" he'd said. "A poor, uneducated handyman. My son will never admit to it." I'm a coward, I know. But if I ever went to the police, he would kill me. Literally kill me. I just can't take that chance. Robert is a strong boy. I pray to God that something happens and he won't have to stay in that house much longer.'_"

Now Martone was freely crying, rivers of tears sliding down her cheeks. Connie could see her shaking uncontrollably, trying to hold back her emotions. It just about broke Connie's heart. Despite her occasionally cold profession, Connie was certainly not without feelings. Especially this close to Christmas, the one time of the year where family was of the utmost importance.

"This is all fine and dandy," Malowski said harshly, folding her arms across her chest. "But it's all speculation. I don't think the words of a man accused of being a pedophile are exactly credible."

"Here's all the proof you need." Connie slid a photograph across the table toward the defendant and her attorney. It showed a tall, handsome, dark-haired man coming out of a bedroom, obviously at night since the lighting was relatively dark. The man had his head turned out, a guilty expression on his face. The door was cracked just wide enough to see a poster of Shaquille O'Neal hanging on the wall inside the bedroom.

Martone's hand flew to her mouth, and she sobbed loudly. "That… that's my dad," she choked out.

"And the bedroom?" Cutter asked softly, shooting a glance in Connie's direction.

She choked again, tears streaming down her cheeks. "It was Robert's. When he was fifteen."

Connie sighed and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "We're just speculating, but we think Linus confronted your father with the abuse. And rather than take responsibility for what he did, your father threatened to kill him, or even blame him for it. So Linus packed his bags and left, making a new life for himself here in New York, doing what he always loved to do."

Malowski swallowed hard. Her rock-solid defense was quickly slipping away, and she knew it. She'd sworn that Mike Cutter would never best her again. Damn that man. "We can still beat this," she whispered to Martone.

"Think of how it's gonna be at trial when I ask you about the man who really molested your brother," Cutter said. "Think of how the jury's gonna react when they hear that you planned the murder of the wrong man. I'll make sure to bring character witness after character witness to testify that Linus Jenkins was the gentlest man they knew. Think of that boy that saw you stab the only father he ever knew." He turned to Malowski, a hard look coming over his eyes. "Think of how the jury's going to react to his testimony. They'll lose every ounce of sympathy they ever had for your client."

"Audrey –" Malowski began, but Martone cut her off again.

"No!" she shouted, slamming her hands into the table. The sudden bang startled all three attorneys, and Cutter and Connie exchanged a surprised look. Martone turned to the two prosecutors, her cheeks glistening in the harsh light. "I'm done with this. You hear me? I'm done."

The near frantic attorney placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Audrey, listen to me."

"No. You listen to me." She leaned forward a little, her dark eyes boring into Malowski's blue ones. "I killed an innocent man. I stole a child's father away like my father stole my brother. Linus never did a thing to hurt me or my brother." Martone turned to Cutter and Rubirosa. "I was so… angry for so long. And when I found out that Linus was still alive and living in New York, I decided I'd kill him for what he did to my brother." Fresh tears trekked down her face, and she wiped angrily at them with her fingers. "But I was wrong." She took a deep breath and shook her head. "I was wrong. And I deserve to go to jail for what I did."

Malowski turned to the two prosecutors, who sat staring at the distraught woman. She might've been an ambitious woman, but she was certainly not a fool. She knew she'd been beaten. And beaten badly. Cutter was right. If they put her up on the stand, after he presented that evidence, no jury would acquit. Finally she sighed. "What's the offer again?"

Connie looked at Cutter, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Cutter returned her look and sat back in his chair, his back resting against the table. "Twelve and a half to twenty-five. Medium security," he answered.

The defense attorney, high-powered as she was, sighed in defeat and nodded. "I'll draw up the paperwork."

*****

Snow still fell lightly outside Riker's, dusting the sidewalks and the vehicles with a light blanket of fluffy white. The wind had shifted dramatically since they had first walked into the facility, blowing steadily from the north and bringing with it icy cold blasts of winter air. If "Silent Night" had been playing nearby, it would make the scene for the perfect Christmas movie. Except for those pesky barbed wire fences…

Connie pulled her coat closer to her body as she walked with Mike to their car. She'd hoped to make it out to her parents' house, but the sun (such as it was) was already setting in the west. She knew that no matter how hard she tried, she wouldn't make it out there in time. Not on Christmas Eve. Which left her with a couple of possibilities. She could spend it alone in her apartment, watching _White Christmas_ on TV. Or she could ask Mike what he was doing for Christmas Eve. It could be fun, getting to know him better. She'd enjoyed the last couple of days they'd spent together working the case, getting to know more about him and his family.

As they reached the last gate before the parking lot, she suddenly felt his hand on the small of her back, gently guiding her through the gate ahead of him. Connie suppressed the shiver that ran down her spine, trying to convince herself that it was because she was cold.

And definitely trying to convince herself that it had nothing to do with his close proximity to her. So close that she could smell his cologne.

Mike chided himself, removing his hand quickly from her back. What had he been thinking, touching her in a way that definitely crossed the line between friend and more-than-friends? A girl like Connie was so far out of his league, he didn't even know where to start with her. She had high expectations of the men she was interested in. And honestly, Mike wasn't sure he could deliver. Maybe he'd just been dreaming when he saw that look in her eyes as she watched him at the Christmas party. He could've sworn that she'd actually looked more than a little interested, staring at him the way he stared at her.

"You know, I almost feel sorry for her," Connie said softly, shattering his thoughts into a million pieces. "Dealing with her parents' death and her brother's suicide, only to find out that her father had been molesting her brother all along."

"Sounds like something out of a soap opera," Mike replied, giving her a grin as she turned to face him.

Connie shook her head, brushing a loose tendril of dark hair out of her eyes. "Worse."

He stuck his hands into the pockets of his overcoat and shrugged his shoulders. "In a way, Linus got what he wanted."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Linus hoped that something would happen so Robert wouldn't have to endure the abuse any more. Two years after Linus left town, the Martones died in a car wreck." Mike shrugged again. "Robert didn't have to deal with the abuse any more."

Connie sighed softly and looked up at the sky, letting the snowflakes hit her skin and dust her eyelashes. She loved the snow. Always had, and probably always would. "Hard to believe it's Christmas Eve, isn't it?"

Mike smiled, staring at the woman in front of him. She looked absolutely gorgeous in the glow of the lights at the prison, with the snow coming down around her like a veil. He wanted nothing more than to softly kiss those lips that had parted to taste the snow.

"You know," she said quietly, lowering her chin to look him in the eyes. "I've been thinking about something."

He quirked an eyebrow at his assistant and folded his arms across his chest. "What's that?"

"Those kids at the boys' home." She sighed again and slid her hands into her coat pockets. "Mrs. Franks called me the other day to ask me some questions about the hearing with the judge. Mike, Linus was such a huge part of their Christmas, playing Santa for them and handing out their presents. And he's gone this year."

"It's terrible to lose someone this time of year," Mike agreed.

"All she wants is to give them a special Christmas."

Mike looked away for a moment thoughtfully. He wanted to do something for those kids too. They'd lost so much before Linus, and to lose their Christmas traditions was just unconscionable. Suddenly, inspiration struck. "Connie, you're heading home for Christmas?"

She shook her head. "It's too late to get out there now. I'd never make it through the traffic."

He nodded and gently took her arm, leading her toward the car. "Good. I'd hate to ask you to miss Christmas with your family. Call Jack and see if he can pull some strings for us."

She stopped and looked at him. His eyes had that glint in them, signifying some wild idea running through his brain. "What're you thinking?"

Mike grinned at her. "I'll tell you in the car."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays to you all! I wanted to get this up before I head to work for the night. I hope you have all had a fantastic Christmas full of blessings. Thanks to everyone who was so faithful to review! I hope you enjoy this final chapter - my Christmas present to you. **

**Chapter 8**

**December 25**

Christmas had indeed arrived in New York City. And what a Christmas morning it was. Snow fell softly from the sky, making it look more like a Christmas card than real life. Wall Street, Centre Street, the Financial District, and Rockefeller Plaza were completely closed, a feat which happened just once a year, and the Empire State Building was lit up in red and green in celebration of the holiday. The churches had been packed to capacity the night before for Christmas Mass or their candlelight services, and this day, Christmas morning, apartment buildings were filled with the smells and sounds of Christmas.

The Upper West Side was quieter than usual with only a few people out on the snow-covered streets. The brightly colored lights on the eaves of the houses and apartment building blinked rapidly, turning the still-falling snow into brilliant shades of pink, gold, blue, and green. Snowmen dotted the small lawns, their carrot or button noses standing out against the fluffy white.

As Cutter and Connie walked up the steps to the Jenkins front porch, Mrs. Franks rushed out the front door, a huge smile lighting up her face. "Merry Christmas!" she said jubilantly, throwing her arms around first Cutter's neck, then Connie's.

Cutter chuckled, giving his assistant a bright smile. "Merry Christmas to you too."

"Mr. Cutter, I can't tell you how grateful I am that you'd give up your Christmas for the boys." She shook her head in wonderment. "It'll mean so much to them."

"We're glad we could do something," Connie said with a smile, following the older woman into the house. The distinctly wonderful smell of baking wafted into the parlor from the kitchen, and Cutter breathed in deeply. It smelled absolutely amazing, and his stomach growled hungrily.

"I'll need a place to change," Cutter said, taking his coat and Rubirosa's to the closet by the front door. He tried as hard as he could not to stare at his assistant. She wore a bright red sweater that accented her tanned skin and showed off her curves in all the right places. It was much more casual than he was used to seeing her, and he swallowed hard, making sure he kept his eyes on the older woman beside her.

"Upstairs, Mr. Cutter."

He grinned at Mrs. Franks. "Thank you. And it's Mike for today."

She returned his smile, and he quickly disappeared upstairs. Mrs. Franks turned to Connie and leaned in conspiratorially. "I made sure I hid all the presents in my room. These boys are awfully sneaky."

Connie chuckled, dodging two small boys as they ran past. "I'm sure they are. I have two brothers, and I remember Christmas in my house."

Mrs. Franks led Connie into the spacious living room, which at the moment was echoing with the laughter of little boys. Tim Dowd sat on one of the couches on the other side of the room, and his solemn face looked out of place for such a happy time as Christmas. Connie made sure she gave him an extra big smile while she listened to Mrs. Franks introduce the other boys.

"These two crazy boys are Jason and Wally," Mrs. Franks said with a smile, gesturing to the two dark-headed boys playing with toy soldiers on the carpeted floor.

"You're pretty," the one named Jason said, looking up at Connie with big brown eyes.

Connie could've melted right then. "Well, thank you," she said with a laugh. "You're pretty handsome yourself." She chuckled at the delighted blush that spread across the boy's face.

"This is the oldest boy, Will." Mrs. Franks motioned to a tall, handsome, blonde-haired young man who'd just entered from the kitchen. "He's fifteen and the best helper a worn-out old lady could ask for."

Will stuck his hand out politely, and Connie took it. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Rubirosa."

Connie smiled. "It's Christmas, so it's Connie."

"Connie, come play soldiers with us," Jason ordered, giving her a pleading look.

With those big eyes, there was no way Connie could say no. She loved kids. So she sat down next to the boys and picked up one of the soldiers scattered across the carpet. Will sat down on the other side of her, grabbing Wally by the waist and tickling his sides. The younger boy screamed and giggled, and before long, two more small boys had jumped on Will's back. Connie laughed with the boys, scrambling out of the way so she didn't get caught up in their roughhousing.

"The redheaded imp is Damien, and his cohort's James," Mrs. Franks said in between bouts of laughter. She wrapped an arm around Tim, who sat next to her quietly observing all the action.

Connie shook her head, amused. "I don't know how you put up with all these boys."

"They're a blessing." Mrs. Franks grabbed another blonde-headed boy and pulled him up into her lap. "It gets a little crazy sometimes, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Linus was the first person that ever gave these boys love. And that's what Christmas is all about, right? Love?"

Connie pursed her lips thoughtfully as she ruffled Jason's hair. Perhaps Mrs. Franks was right.

Suddenly a loud "Ho, ho, ho!" sounded from the stairs. Connie looked up in surprise just in time to see a tall, jolly-looking Santa stumble down the stairs, his white fluffy beard resting on his broad chest and his belly shaking like a bowl full of jelly. It took all her willpower to not burst out laughing at the sight of Mike Cutter in a Santa suit. But it was for the kids.

"Merry Christmas!" Mike shouted, grinning widely as he slung a big sack over his shoulder. God, it was getting hot in that suit. But seeing the looks on those kids' faces made wearing the itchy beard completely worth it.

"Merry Christmas!" the kids shouted back. One of the little boys dashed toward him and attached himself to Cutter's leg, holding on for dear life. The other kids shouted excitedly at him. "What's in the bag? What'd I get? Hurry up!"

Mike laughed and dragged his leg toward the chair by the Christmas tree. With a grunt he sat down in it and lifted the boy onto his lap. "And what's your name, young man?" he asked, deepening his voice so he sounded like Santa.

"Damien," the tow-headed little boy answered, his bright blue eyes looking up expectantly into Mike's.

"Well, Damien, let me look in my bag here." Mike reached down into his bag, rummaging around. "Hmm… I know I put it in here. The elves are gonna be in big trouble…" Finally he pulled out a brightly wrapped present, covered in green and red Christmas paper, and grinned at the child. "Merry Christmas, Damien," he said, handing it to the boy.

His freckled face lit up, and he reverently took the gift from Mike's hands. "Thank you, Santa," he said softly.

"You're welcome." Mike grunted, lifting the boy off his lap so he could hand out another gift. "Where's Jake?"

"Here, Santa!" An even younger boy jumped up from the floor and dashed toward Mike, jumping up into his lap.

Connie watched with a smile on her face as the room filled with a chorus of "Whoa!" and "That's cool!" every time Mike handed out a gift to a boy. She observed how their faces immediately brightened when they tore off the wrapping paper to reveal their precious gift. But most of all, she watched how Mike's blue eyes, usually so intense, danced and twinkled at the faces of the children. She'd been pleasantly surprised at his idea to give the kids the Christmas they'd been looking forward to. Mike Cutter might've been an overzealous, highly ambitious prosecutor, but he felt deeply. And he was so good with those boys, even giving Will tips on how to hold his brand new wooden bat.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew this would be the clincher for her. She couldn't deny her feelings for him any more, not when the picture of Mike Cutter surrounded by all those children was painted in her mind forever.

"Tim!" Mike shouted above the din, waving the boy over to him. "Come here, son!"

The boy glanced at Mrs. Franks, who nodded encouragingly at him. Finally he slid off the couch and slowly made his way over to Mike's chair by the Christmas tree.

Mike reached down and lifted the boy onto his lap. His heart nearly broke at the sad look on the kid's face. Sometimes life really wasn't fair. "Tim, I have a special present for you."

He stayed silent, but an expectant and hopeful look crept into his blue eyes.

"Linus wanted me to bring this for you, and to tell you that he's okay where he is. He knows you love him, and he wants you to know that he's looking down on you right now. And he's smiling, Tim. Because he's proud of you for being so brave." He looked around at the other boys. "In fact, all of these presents are from Linus. He wanted me to bring them to you and to tell you that he loves you all very much.

Tim nodded slowly and deliberately, and Mike looked around the room at the other boys. "In fact, all of these presents are from Linus. He wanted me to bring them to you and to tell you that he loves you all very much. He wanted you to have the best Christmas ever."

Every child in the room, no matter how old they were, clutched at the gift he'd been given and smiled softly. Linus was thinking about them, wherever he was.

As he reached into his big red bag, Mike sneaked a glance at Connie, and his heart leapt. She was looking at him with a strange expression in her dark eyes. Surprise, maybe. Perhaps even affection. Whatever it was, it gave him even more hope that maybe, just maybe, something could happen between them.

Finally he pulled out another brightly wrapped present, the shiny silver paper glimmering with the lights from the tree. He handed it to Tim with a huge smile. "Merry Christmas, Tim."

Tim looked at him, then took the present in his hands. Slowly he ripped off the paper and pulled out a brand-new, blue Giants football jersey. The bright red "10" on the front felt soft and smooth under his tiny fingers. Tim looked back at Mike wide-eyed. "Thank you, Santa," he whispered.

Suddenly Tim threw his arms around Mike's neck, startling the man for just a moment. Mike let out a sigh and gently hugged the boy back. And as they embraced, he couldn't help but think that maybe this was really what Christmas was all about.

Then Tim released him and jumped down from his lap, running over to Will to show off his brand new Eli Manning jersey. Mike shook his head and smiled as he got up from the chair and crossed the room to where Mrs. Franks and Connie sat.

Mrs. Franks wiped a tear that had made a path down her cheek. "This has been the best Christmas we've ever had," she whispered. "Thank you both so much."

"Actually, we have one more present to give you," Mike said, glancing quickly at Connie.

The older woman furrowed her brow, confused. "Those were all the presents upstairs."

"This one's from us," Connie said softly, smiling at the other woman.

"I don't understand."

Mike scratched at his fake beard, a slight smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Since you were involved with a case, we can't directly donate money to you. But our boss has some connections in this town with some charity organizations."

"So we talked to him about your situation with the house," Connie interjected. "And he called around last night to pull a few strings."

Mike reached into the Santa coat and pulled out a thick envelope. His smile brightened when he saw the woman's eyes immediately well up with tears. "We picked this up this morning on the way over here. It's five thousand dollars to go toward fixing up this place."

Mrs. Franks' eyes widened, and her hand flew to her mouth. "What?"

Connie grinned. "Repairing the leaky roof, fixing the foundations and the cracks in the walls, redoing the lighting and the plumbing, fixing up the floor. Everything you need for giving those boys a healthy life."

"We know it'll cost a lot more," Mike added, "but our boss said he'd talk to the police department's charity organizations and see about getting the home on the right track." He put the envelope in Mrs. Franks' trembling hand. "Merry Christmas, Mrs. Franks."

*****

The snow was still falling gently when Connie finally pulled up to Mike's apartment building on the East Side. Night had fallen by the time they'd managed to leave the boys' home. She had to admit – this had been one of the best Christmases she'd ever had. After they'd managed to loosen her grip on Mike's neck, she'd served them the best Christmas dinner either prosecutor had had in years. They'd played with the boys for hours. When they left, little Tim Dowd threw his arms around Mike's neck in the first show of real emotion they'd seen from him in a week. Connie had watched as tears sprang up in Mike's eyes, his arms holding the boy tightly. She'd never known he could be so good with children.

When she pulled to a stop outside his building, a wave of disappointment hit Mike. This was the first time in ages they had actually been able to come together as friends, not as coworkers. He'd always known she loved children, but she had been so good with them. If anything, it attracted him even more to her. And for the first time since he'd known her, Mike had hope that maybe, just maybe, she could return his feelings.

Connie turned to him, and he turned to her. Their eyes met, and an awkward silence enveloped the car for just a few moments. Finally Mike ran his hand through his hair and gave her a crooked smile. "Would you, uh… like to come up for a couple of minutes?"

She opened her mouth to say something, but Mike quickly said, "I mean, unless you have to go or something."

Connie smiled and shook her head. "Sure."

He grinned and opened the passenger door, stepping out into the cold winter air. Connie reached behind the seat and pulled out the gift she'd so carefully wrapped the night before. Against her better judgment, she'd found a good deal online and bought it for him. She knew he'd love it.

They climbed the stairs to his third-floor apartment, and within minutes, Mike let them both into the darkened apartment. He flipped on the light, revealing a nicely furnished but small living room. A small Christmas tree sat next to the window overlooking the street below.

"Make yourself at home," he said, closing the door behind him. He helped her off with her coat and draped it across his countertop, along with his. "I just need to grab something from the back."

He disappeared down the hall into his bedroom, and, setting the gift down on the coffee table, Connie sat down on his couch. Her eyes traveled over the small living room until they rested on the pictures on the wall. One of them was of a college baseball team. Mike looked so different then… so much younger. The one next to it must've been taken much more recently. Mike stood there on a beach with an older couple, their arms around his waist. He looked exactly like the older man standing next to him, just a little younger.

"Sorry about that." His voice came wafting from the back, and within seconds he reappeared. He held a fairly big, square package in his hand, carefully wrapped in bright green paper with a bright red bow on it. He circled the couch and sat down next to her, so close he could smell that perfume she always wore. It was driving him crazy.

Connie picked up the gift she'd set on the coffee table and smiled at him. "Merry Christmas, Mike," she said, handing the package to him.

He handed her the gift in his hands with a wide grin. "Merry Christmas. Open yours first."

She grinned as she complied, carefully peeling off the paper. Her eyes widened as she tossed the gift paper on the carpet and held up the book he'd bought her. "A Jane Austen box set?"

"I remembered you saying something about how those were some of your favorite books growing up." He shrugged. "When I saw it, I thought about you."

Connie shook her head incredulously. It amazed her how the man that had practically pimped her out to the jury less than a year ago could be so sensitive and thoughtful. "Mike, this is wonderful. I love it." She set it down on the coffee table and gestured to Mike. "Open yours."

Mike grinned like a little kid. "Okay." He made quick work of the paper, not nearly as careful with it as Connie had been. His face fell just a little when he pulled out a small shoebox. "No offense, Connie, but this is just a little bit of a letdown."

She chuckled. "Open it."

He glared at her for a moment, then pulled off the lid. And his mouth dropped open immediately. He looked at her again, and Connie had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the shocked expression on his face. "Two tickets to the Mets' season opener?"

"I know how much you love the Mets. And you were so bummed last year when you didn't get to go."

"Connie, this must've cost you a fortune."

She shrugged. "It's Christmas. And after what I saw today, you deserve it."

A blush slowly spread across his cheeks. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to go with me?"

Connie smiled slowly and rested her elbow on the back of the couch. "I'd love to."

He smiled again, trying not to look too excited. She'd actually agreed to go out and do something with him. Maybe it wasn't a date, but it was certainly a start. And it was definitely a lot more than he would've gotten two months ago. Maybe something really was changing between them.

"Mike," Connie said quietly, looking down for a moment. "What you did today… well, it was the nicest thing I've seen in a long time. Giving those boys the Christmas they would've missed…"

Mike shook his head once and turned his gaze on his assistant. "That's what Christmas is all about, right? Love, giving to others, hope. Those boys needed to know that they were loved and they would be taken care of. Any other decent person would've done the same thing."

Connie shook her head and moved a little closer to him. "I don't know about that. But it was certainly wonderful." Almost on impulse, she leaned forward and softly brushed her lips against his cheek.

When she pulled back, he was looking at her, an intense look in his stormy blue eyes. She knew exactly what that look meant. There could be no misunderstanding there. And the thing that scared her the most was that she wanted it to happen. More than anything.

He swallowed hard and slowly closed the gap between them. Everything around them seemed to just fade away, and the only things he noticed were how her eyes slowly fluttered shut and how the smell of her perfume wafted from her. Then he softly, tenderly brushed his lips against hers.

Connie felt her heart practically stop when his lips touched hers. It was just a whisper of a kiss, but it was enough to light her on fire. She moaned softly when his hand came up to cup her face, and she fisted her hands in the material of his sweater, holding on for dear life as his lips gently caressed hers.

After what seemed like an hour, she pulled away. Mike opened his eyes to see her brown orbs sparkling, and he couldn't resist smiling just a little. Her face was slightly flushed, and to him, she'd never looked more beautiful.

"You know," she whispered, chuckling softly. "I've wanted you to do that for a while now."

Mike laughed quietly and brushed a stray tendril of dark hair from her eyes. "I've wanted to do that since the day I met you. What happened to being professional?"

"Sometimes, Mike," she replied, moving even closer to him. "When there's something you want, you have to sacrifice to get it."

His eyebrows went up as he rested his arm on the back of the couch, behind her head. "And I'm what you want?"

She nodded, taking a deep breath. "Yeah. Yeah, you are. And I'm an idiot for not realizing it sooner. I guess Christmas - this case - made me figure a few things out. You're a much better man than I gave you credit for, and life is too short to live it without a little happiness." She leaned forward and softly brushed her lips against his. "Merry Christmas, Mike," she whispered when she pulled back.

Mike reached out and wrapped a hand around her waist, pulling her to his chest. His other hand tangled in her hair, gently tipping her head back. "Merry Christmas, Consuela," he murmured just before he gently kissed her again.


End file.
